PLAYS   OF   PROTEST 
BY   UPTON  SINCLAIR 


BY  UPTON  SINCLAIR 

LOVE'S    PILGRIMAGE 

THE  FASTING  CURE 

KING   MIDAS 

PRINCE   HAGEN 

THE  JOURNAL  OF  ARTHUR  STIRLING 

MANASSAS 

THE   OVERMAN 

THE  JUNGLE 

THE   INDUSTRIAL   REPUBLIC 

THE   METROPOLIS 

THE    MONEYCHANGERS 

SAMUEL   THE    SEEKER 


at  all  bookshops 


PLAYS  OF  PROTEST 

THE  NATUREWOMAN 
THE  MACHINE 
THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN 
PRINCE  HAGEN 


BY 
UPTON  SINCLAIR 


NEW  YORK 

MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 
MCMXII 


Copyright  1911  by 
Mitchell  Kennerley 


CONTENTS 

The  Naturevvoman  3 

The  Machine  73 

The  Second-Story  Man  141 

Prince  Hagen  157 


M71307G 


PREFACE 

OF  the  plays  here  offered,  the  first  in  order  of  writing 
was  "Prince  Hagen" :  a  dramatization  of  a  novel  published 
nearly  ten  years  ago.  The  author  had  always  been  dis 
satisfied  with  this  novel,  and  he  found  that  a  new  version 
of  the  theme  was  taking  shape  in  his  mind.  The  play 
which  resulted  was  tried  out  under  the  author's  direction 
at  the  Valencia  Theatre,  San  Francisco,  in  January,  1909. 
In  the  light  of  the  experience  thus  gained  the  play  was 
entirely  rewritten,  and  the  new  version  of  it  is  here 
presented. 

The  second  of  the  plays  in  point  of  time  was  "The 
Second-story  Man."  This  little  sketch,  with  two  others, 
was  given  by  a  dramatic  company,  organized  by  the  writer, 
in  a  dozen  or  so  cities  of  California  in  1909.  The  playlet 
is  perhaps  the  most  dramatic  thing  the  author  has  written  ; 
concerning  the  opening  performance  the  San  Francisco 
Bulletin  declared  that  "the  applause  was  the  most 
tumultuous  ever  witnessed  in  any  theatre  in  this  city"; 
and  in  two  other  cities  the  audience  compelled  the  repeti 
tion  of  the  piece.  As  an  illustration  of  the  difficulties 
encountered  by  a  writer  who  seeks  to  use  the  stage  in 
America  as  a  medium  for  the  setting  forth  of  radical 
ideas,  it  may  be  mentioned  that  the  production  was 
offered  to  the  head  of  the  vaudeville  "syndicate"  in  San 
Francisco,  who  declared  his  unqualified  approval  of  it; 
but  upon  an  account  of  the  play  being  telegraphed  to  New 


ii  PREFACE 


York,  word  came  in  reply  that  nothing  so  radical  could 
be  accepted.  "The  Second-story  Man"  has  been  since 
presented  in  vaudeville  on  several  occasions,  but  always 
with  the  same  result — enthusiastic  acceptance  by  the  audi 
ence,  and  inability  to  obtain  regular  bookings  from  those 
"higher  up."  The  playlet  has  been  published,  and  also 
presented  under  Socialistic  auspices,  in  England  and  Aus 
tralia,  in  Germany,  France  and  Italy. 

The  third  play  to  be  written  was  "The  Machine,"  con 
cerning  which  the  following  explanation  should  be  made. 
Four  or  five  years  ago  the  writer  set  to  work  upon  what 
he  intended  to  be  a  trilogy  of  novels  portraying  the  life 
of  the  city  of  New  York.  The  first  of  these  novels,  "The 
Metropolis,"  dealt  with  what  calls  itself  "society";  the 
second,  "The  Moneychangers,"  with  "high  finance";  the 
third,  which  was  to  be  called  "The  Machine,"  was  to  carry 
its  hero  through  a  political  career,  presenting  a  study  of 
"Tammany  Hall"  and  the  slums.  This  work  was  under 
taken  at  a  time  when  the  writer  was  in  wretched  health 
and  under  great  nervous  strain.  He  was  unable  to  make 
either  of  the  two  published  volumes  what  he  had  intended  ; 
and  the  third  volume  he  was  unable  to  write  at  all — the 
most  superficial  study  of  the  material  brought  him  into 
contact  with  so  much  misery  and  oppression  that  he  found 
the  attempt  was  literally  wrecking  him. 

The  theme,  however,  kept  haunting  him,  and  conditions 
which  he  had  discovered  cried  out  for  publicity.  He 
found  that  the  work  was  taking,  in  his  mind,  the  shape  of 
a  play,  and  so  finally  it  came  to  be  written.  He  is  aware 
of  the  fact  that  two  inadequate  novels  and  a  play  consti 
tute  a  somewhat  dubious  literary  form.  However,  "The 
Machine"  is  to  be  read  by  itself — he  makes  the  explana 
tion  here  merely  in  order  that  readers  of  "The  Metropo 
lis"  and  "The  Moneychangers"  may  understand  why  they 
find  the  same  characters  in  the  play,  and  may  know  what 


PREFACE  iii 


was  the  story  to  which  the  two  novels  were  intended  to 
lead  up. 

When  this  play  was  finished  I  took  it  to  a  manager- 
friend.  He  said,  "It  is  as  good  as  any  political  play 
that  I  ever  saw,  but  the  public  won't  stand  for  that  kind 
of  political  play."  I  then  took  it  to  another  friend,  one 
of  the  most  successful  playwrights  in  America,  a  man 
who  has  made  a  large  fortune  out  of  plays  which  portray 
modern  conditions.  I  told  him  that  I  had  written  a  drama 
dealing  with  politics  and  high  finance  in  New  York. 

He  said,  "I  will  read  it,  but  I  know  in  advance  that  it 
will  be  impossible." 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"You  have  treated  it  realistically,  have  you  not?" 

I  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  answered,  "Yes." 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  "and  the  public  won't  stand  for 
realistic  treatment  of  such  a  theme.  If  you  want  to  deal 
with  politics  and  high  finance,  you  must  treat  it  senti 
mentally,  you  must  'fake'  it,  as  I  did  in  ' .'  "  He 

named  one  of  the  most  successful  of  his  plays. 

After  which  I  took  the  play  to  a  third  friend,  an  actor- 
manager  who  ranks  at  the  top  of  his  profession.  He  said, 
"I  read  it  with  interest,  but  I  couldn't  put  on  a  play  like 
that.  Tammany  Hall  would  close  me  up  in  a  week." 

I  narrate  these  anecdotes  by  way  of  illustrating  what 
a  man  encounters  who  attempts  to  found  a  revolutionary 
drama  in  America.  I  can  only  assure  my  readers  that  I 
intend  to  stand  by  my  guns.  I  do  not  intend  to  deal  with 
American  capitalism  "sentimentally,"  I  do  not  intend  to 
"fake"  my  portrayal  of  it.  I  spent  ten  years  of  my  life 
fighting  for  the  privilege  of  writing  my  novels  as  I  wished 
them.  I  am  willing  to  spend  another  ten  years  fighting 
for  the  privilege  of  writing  plays.  I  believe  that  in  "The 
Machine"  I  have  produced  an  acting  play,  which  the  peo 
ple  of  New  York  will  some  day  see  on  the  stage.  They 


iv  PREFACE 


will  see  it,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  because  they  need  to 
know  the  facts  which  it  sets  forth. 

The  youngest  of  my  dramatic  children  is  ''The  Nature- 
woman";  and  she  is  too  young  to  have  had  much  of  a  past. 
Those  to  whom  I  showed  her  were  unanimous  in  the 
opinion  that  I  would  have  to  put  some  more  clothes  upon 
her  before  she  could  be  admitted  upon  the  New  York 
stage.  A  friend  sent  her  to  that  "specialist  in  immoral 
and  heretical  plays,"  Mr.  George  Bernard  Shaw,  who 
made  the  comment:  "Of  course,  plenty  of  dramatic  and 
literary  faculty  has  gone  to  the  making  of  it,  but  Sinclair 
is  a  traitor  to  civilization,  and  his  main  thesis,  which  is 
that  a  woman  with  the  habits  and  ideas  of  a  porpoise  is 
superior  to  a  woman  with  the  habits  and  ideas  of  Madame 
Roland,  will  not  wash."  My  reply  to  this  is,  that  "The 
Naturewoman"  represents  a  definite  reaction  in  my  atti 
tude  to  life.  For  the  first  fifteen  years  of  my  independent 
intellectual  existence,  I  was  a  disciple  of  the  ideal  of 
"spirituality";  I  sought  the  things  of  the  mind  and  "soul" 
exclusively — until  suddenly  I  awakened  to  a  realization 
of  the  fact  that  I  had  lost  the  power  of  digesting  food. 
Now  I  have  come  to  the  conviction  that  it  is  better  to 
have  "the  habits  and  ideas  of  a  porpoise" — with  a  por 
poise's  digestion — than  it  is  to  have  "the  habits  and  ideas 
of  Madame  Roland" — plus  the  headaches  and  backaches 
which  most  of  the  Madame  Rolands  of  my  knowledge  are 
obliged  to  contend  with. 

In  conclusion,  I  desire  to  put  on  record  the  fact  con 
cerning  "Prince  Hagen"  and  "The  Machine,"  that  they 
were  offered  to  the  New  Theatre,  and  declined.  Referring 
to  the  former  play,  the  representative  of  the  institution 
remarked  to  my  play-agent  that  it  was  "a  powerful  work, 
but  contrary  to  the  principles  of  the  founders."  This 
phrase  has  stayed  in  my  mind ;  I  am  tempted  to  take  it  up 
and  immortalize  it.  It  would  be  by  no  means  an  uninstruc- 


PREFACE 


tive  performance  to  take  the  list  of  the  twenty  founders 
of  the  New  Theatre,  as  printed  upon  all  its  programs, 
and  study  their  careers,  both  public  and  private,  and 
inquire  as  to  the  "principles"  which  have  actuated  them. 
The  New  Theatre  was  founded  to  improve  dramatic  taste 
in  this  country,  to  lead  the  way  to  a  new  dramatic  awak 
ening.  So  far,  in  the  judgment  of  many  critics,  it  has 
failed;  and  it  is  surely  worth  while  that  some  one  who  is 
free  to  speak  plainly  should  point  out  the  reason  for  the 
failure. 

It  is  the  obvious  fact  that  the  next  task  before  the 
American  people  is  to  take  their  political  and  industrial 
affairs  out  of  the  hands  of  gentlemen  of  the  type  of  the 
founders  of  the  New  Theatre;  and  that  the  rousing  of  the 
American  people  to  this  task  is  the  duty  now  before  the 
country's  writers  and  thinkers.  In  every  nation  of  Europe 
to-day  there  is  a  school  of  dramatists  who  are  enlisted 
more  or  less  consciously  and  definitely  in  such  an  under 
taking.  Hauptmann,  Halbe,  Gorki,  Andreiev,  Heijermans, 
Van  Eeden,  Maeterlinck,  Brieux,  Hervieux,  Bernard  Shaw, 
Granville  Barker,  John  Galsworthy — these  men  are  the 
creators  of  worth-while  and  vital  drama ;  and  that  we  can 
name  no  such  men  in  America  means  simply  that  in 
America  the  drama  has  not  yet  come  to  face  the  realities 
of  modern  life.  It  will  not  be  long,  I  think,  before  we 
shall  witness  a  change  in  this  regard.  The  point  I  am 
making  here  is,  that  the  New  Theatre  can  have  nothing 
to  do  with  any  such  awakening — at  least  not  so  long  as  its 
"founders"  have  any  control  whatever  over  its  destinies. 
Of  what  service  these  present  plays  may  prove  in  the 
work  of  establishing  a  revolutionary  drama  in  this  coun 
try,  the  writer  will  make  no  attempt  to  predict.  Only  this 
much  he  will  say — that  they  are  the  work  of  a  man  who 
has  faced  the  realities  of  modern  life;  who  is  a  passionate 
lover  of  the  theatre,  and  intends  to  devote  the  greater 


vi  PREFACE 


part  of  his  time  from  now  on  to  the  attempt  to  write  for  it. 
It  is  his  plan  to  print  his  plays  in  book-form,  and  leave  it 
for  those  to  whom  they  may  appeal  to  find  some  way  of 
getting  them  before  the  public. 


THE   NATUREWOMAN 


CHARACTERS 

OCEANA:  the  Naturewoman. 

MRS.  SOPHRONIA  MASTERSON:  of  Beacon  Street,  Boston. 

QUINCY  MASTERSON,  M.D. :  her  husband. 

FREDDY  MASTERSON  :  her  son. 

ETHEL  MASTERSON  :  her  younger  daughter. 

MRS.  LETITIA  SELDEN:  her  elder  daughter. 

HENRY  SELDEN:  Letitia's  husband. 

REMSON  :  a  butler. 


ACT  I 

Drawing-room  of  the  Masterson  home;  afternoon  in 
winter. 

ACT  II 

The  same;  the  next  afternoon. 

ACT  III 
A  portion  of  the  parlor,  as  a  stage;  the  same  evening. 

ACT  IV 

Henry  Selden's  camp  in  the  White  Mountains;  after 
noon,  a  week  later. 


THE  NATUREWOMAN 


ACT  I 

Scene    shows    a    luxuriously    furnished    drawing-room. 

Double  doors,  centre,  opening  to  hall  and  stairway. 

Grand  piano  at  right,  fireplace  next  to  it,  with  large 

easy-chair  in  front.     Centre   table;  windows  left, 

and  chairs. 
At  rise:   ETHEL  standing  by  table;  a  beautiful  but  rather 

frail  girl  of  sixteen;  opening  a  package  containing 

photograph  in  frame. 

ETHEL.  Oceana  !  Oceana  !  [She  gazes  at  it  in  rapture.] 
Oh,  I  wonder  if  she'll  be  as  good  as  she  is  beautiful! 
She  must  be !  Oceana !  [To  REMSON,  an  old,  white- 
haired  family  servant,  who  enters  with  flowers  in  vase.] 
No  message  from  my  brother  yet? 

REMSON.     Nothing,  Miss  Ethel. 

ETHEL.     Look  at  this,  Remson. 

REMSON.  [Takes  photograph.]  Is  that  your  cousin, 
Miss  Ethel? 

ETHEL.     That's  she.     Isn't  she  lovely? 

REMSON.  Yes,  miss.  Is  that  the  way  they  dress  in 
those  parts? 

ETHEL.  The  natives  don't  even  wear  that  much, 
Remson. 

REMSON.     It  must  be  right  warm  there,  I  fancy. 

ETHEL.  Oh,  yes  .  .  .  they  never  know  what  cold 
weather  is. 

I 


4  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  i 

REMSON.     What  is  the  name  of  it,  Miss  Ethel? 

ETHEL.     Maukuri — it's  in  the  South  Seas. 

REMSON.  It  seems  like  I've  heard  of  cannibals  in  those 
parts,  somewhere. 

ETHEL.  Yes,  in  some  of  the  groups.  But  this  is  just 
one  little  island  by  itself  .  .  .  nothing  else  for  a  hundred 
miles  and  more. 

REMSON.  And  she's  lived  there  all  this  time,  Miss 
Ethel? 

ETHEL.     Fifteen  years.  Remson. 

REMSON.    And  no  folks  at  all  there? 

ETHEL.     Not  since  her  father  died. 

REMSON.  [Shakes  his  head.]  Humph!  She'd  ought 
to  be  glad  to  get  home,  Miss  Ethel. 

ETHEL.  She  didn't  seem  to  feel  that  way.  {Takes  book 
and  seats  herself  by  fireplace.']  But  we'll  try  to  make  her 
change  her  mind.  Just  think  of  it  .  .  .  she's  been  forty- 
six  days  on  the  steamer ! 

REMSON.     Can  it  be  possible,  miss? 

ETHEL.    Wasn't  that  the  street  door  just  now,  Remson? 

REMSON.  I  thought  so,  Miss  Ethel.  [Moves  to  door.~\ 
Oh !  Mrs.  Masterson. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  [In  doorway ;  a  Boston  Brahman, 
aged  fifty,  wearing  street  costume,  black.]  Any  news  yet, 
Remson? 

REMSON.     None,  madam. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.    Master  Frederick  is  at  the  dock? 

REMSON.     Yes,  madam. 

DR.  MASTERSON.  [Enters;  slightly  younger  than  his 
wife,  a  dapper  little  man,  bald  and  henpecked.]  No  news 
from  the  steamer,  my  dear? 

MRS.    MASTERSON.      None. 

REMSON.    Anything  further,  madam? 

MRS.   MASTERSON.      Nothing. 
Exit  REMSON, 


ACT  i]  THE  NATUREWOMAN  5 

DR.  MASTERSON.  It'll  be  too  bad  if  Occana  has  to  spend 
this  evening  on  the  steamer. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Have  you  taken  to  calling  her  by  that 
ridiculous  name  also? 

DR.  MASTERSON.  Surely  she  has  a  right  to  select  her 
name ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  I  was  present  when  she  was  chris 
tened  ;  and  so  were  you,  Quincy.  For  me  she  will  remain 
Anna  Talbot  until  the  day  she  dies. 

DR.  MASTERSON.  Anna  or  Oceana  .  .  .  there's  not  much 
difference,  it  seems.  [Takes  paper  and  sits  by  window; 
they  do  not  see  ETHEL.]  Weren't  Letitia  and  Henry  to 
be  here? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Letitia  was  .  .  .  but  she's  never  on  time. 
There's  the  bell  now.  [Looks  at  photograph.']  Humph ! 
So  Ethel's  had  it  framed!  I  declare  .  .  .  people  ought 
not  to  be  shown  a  photograph  like  that  .  .  .  it's  not 
decent. 

DR.  MASTERSON.     My  dear !    It's  the  South  Sea  Islands ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  [Severely.]  This  is  Back  Bay.  Oh  ! 
Letitia ! 

LETITIA.  [Enters;  aged  about  twenty-eight,  print  and 
decorous,  patterned  after  her  mother;  black  street  cos 
tume,  with  furs.]  No  news  from  the  steamer,  it  seems ! 
Dear  me,  such  weather ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     You  didn't  walk,  I  hope? 

LETITIA.  No,  but  even  getting  into  the  stores!  I'm 
exhausted. 

DR.  MASTERSON.  [Looking  from  paper.]  Henry 
coming? 

LETITIA.  He  said  he  might  drop  in.  He's  curious  to 
see  the  lady. 

DR.  MASTERSON.     Humph  !    No  doubt ! 

LETITIA.       Mother,  I  wish  you'd  try  to  do  something 


6  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  i 

with  Henry.  He's  so  restless  and  discontented  .  .  .  he's 
getting  to  be  simply  impossible. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  I'm  going  to  talk  to  him  to-day,  my 
dear. 

LETITIA.  Fancy  my  going  out  and  burying  myself  in 
the  country  !  And  he  means  it  ...  he's  at  me  all  the  time 
about  it ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     Well,  don't  go,  my  dear ! 

LETITIA.  Don't  worry  yourself  .  .  .  I've  not  the  least  in 
tention  of  going.  Such  things  as  we  modern  women  have 
to  endure !  Only  fancy,  he's  got  an  idea  he  wants  to  be 
where  he  can  work  with  his  hands ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Henry  ought  to  have  discovered  these 
yearnings  before  he  married  one  of  the  Mastersons.  As 
my  daughter,  you  have  certain  social  obligations  to  fill 
.  .  .  your  friends  have  a  claim  upon  you,  quite  as  much  as 
your  husband. 

LETITIA.  He  says  he  wants  to  take  the  bungalow  and 
make  it  over  .  .  .  wants  to  plan  it  and  work  at  it  himself. 
And  with  me  and  the  children  sitting  out  on  the  moun 
tain-top  in  the  snow  until  he  finishes,  I  suppose ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Quincy,  do  you  know  anything  about 
this  whim  of  Henry's  for  a  day-laborer's  life? 

DR.  MASTERSON.  My  dear,  Henry's  a  big,  active  man, 
and  he  wants  something  to  do. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     But  hasn't  he  his  business? 

DR.  MASTERSON.  I  dare  say  there  are  things  more  thrill 
ing  to  a  man  than  commercial  law-cases.  And  Henry's 
been  thinking  for  himself  ...  he  says  the  law's  a  cheat. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Yes,  I  know  .  .  .  I've  heard  all  that. 
And  here  we  are,  just  at  this  critical  moment,  when  the 
girl  is  coming,  and  when  he  ought  to  be  advising  us  about 
that  will. 

DR.  MASTERSON.  It  seems  to  me,  my  dear,  you've  man 
aged  to  choose  your  course  without  his  aid.  [A  pause.'] 


ACT  i]  THE  NATUREWOMAN  7 

I  hope  we  shan't  have  to  get  into  any  quarrel  with 
Oceana. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     We  shall  not  if  /  can  help  it,  Quincy. 

LETITIA.     We  simply  intend  to  be  firm,  father. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  We  intend  to  make  it  clear  that  we 
are  going  to  stand  by  our  legal  rights.  With  no  hard 
feelings  for  her  personally  .  .  . 

ETHEL.     [Rising  from  chair.}     Mother  ! 

MRS.     MASTERSON.      Ethel  ! 

ETHEL.  Mother,  this  has  gone  just  as  far  as  it  can  go! 
I've  felt  all  along  that  something  like  this  was  preparing. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.    My  dear  .   .  . 

ETHEL.  Mother,  this  concerns  me  as  much  as  it  con 
cerns  any  one  of  you.  And  I  tell  you,  you  have  simply 
got  to  let  me  know  about  that  will. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.    My  dear  .  .   . 

ETHEL.  Do  I  understand  that  it  is  your  intention  to 
threaten  to  go  to  law,  unless  Oceana  gives  us  a  part  of 
grandfather's  property  ? 

MRS.   MASTERSON.      Ethel,  I  refuse   .    .    . 

DR.  MASTERSON.  You  might  as  well  tell  the  child,  So- 
phronia.  It's  perfectly  certain,  Ethel,  that  your  grand 
father  was  not  of  sound  mind  when  he  made  the  will. 

ETHEL.  It's  perfectly  certain  that  he  hated  you  and 
mother  and  Aunt  Letitia  and  me  and  Freddy  .  .  .  every 
one  of  us ;  and  that  he  had  hated  us  for  years  and  years ; 
and  that  he  left  his  money  to  Oceana  to  spite  us  all. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.    That's  precisely  it,  Ethel  .   .   . 

ETHEL.  And  I,  for  one,  knowing  that  he  hated  me, 
don't  want  his  money.  And  what  is  more,  I  refuse  to 
touch  his  money. 

DR.  MASTERSON.  Not  being  of  age,  my  dear,  you 
can't  .  .  . 

ETHEL.  I  am  near  enough  of  age  to  possess  my  self- 
respect.  And  I  shall  refuse  to  touch  one  penny. 


8  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  i 

DR.  MASTERSON.  My  child,  there  are  a  good  many  pen 
nies  in  a  half  million  dollars. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  And  when  you  are  of  age,  Ethel, 
you'll  appreciate  .  .  . 

ETHEL.  I  shall  be  of  age  two  years  from  now,  and 
then  I  shall  return  to  Oceana  every  penny  of  grand 
father's  money  that  may  have  been  gotten  for  me. 

LETITIA.     Ethel ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  It  seems  to  me  this  is  a  strange  way 
for  a  young  girl  to  be  speaking  to  her  parents ! 

ETHEL.  I  can't  help  it,  mother.  I  am  meek  and  patient 
.  .  .  I  try  to  let  you  have  your  way  with  me  in  every 
thing.  But  this  is  a  matter  of  principle,  and  I  can't  let 
myself  be  sat  on. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Sat  on !  Is  that  your  view  of  your 
mother's  attitude  towards  you? 

ETHEL.  You  know,  perfectly  well,  mother,  that  it's  im 
possible  for  anybody  to  preserve  any  individuality  in  con 
tact  with  you  .  .  .  that  as  a  matter  of  fact,  neither  father 
nor  Letitia  nor  Freddy  nor  myself  have  preserved  a  shred 
of  it.  Grandfather  said  that  to  you  himself,  the  last  time 
you  ever  saw  him  ...  I  know  it,  for  I've  heard  father 
say  it  a  hundred  times. 

DR.    MASTERSON.      Well! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  It  seems  to  me  there's  more  than  a 
trace  of  individuality  in  this  present  outburst,  Ethel. 

ETHEL.     Yes,  but  it's  the  first  time,  mother. 

LETITIA.  Some  one  is  coming.  [Turns  to  door.']  Oh ! 
Henry ! 

HENRY.  [Enters;  a  handsome,  'powerfully-built  man; 
smooth  shaven,  immaculate,  reserved  in  manner.]  Well, 
has  the  sea-witch  arrived? 

MRS.    MASTERSON.      Not   yet. 

DR.  MASTERSON.  Freddy's  gone  to  meet  her  with  the 
limousine. 


ACT  i]  THE  NATUREWOMAN  9 

HENRY.     I  sec.     And  the  steamer? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     It  was  to  have  docked  two  hours  ago. 

FIENKY.  \\'ell,  that  means  that  I  won't  see  her  till  to 
morrow  evening.  I've  got  to  run  down  to  Providence 
to-night. 

LETITIA.     What's  the  matter? 

HENRY.  Nothing  important  .  .  .  just  a  business  matter 
that  requires  my  presence.  Make  my  apologies ;  and  good 
bye,  my  dear. 

Kisses  LETITIA. 

LETITIA.     Henry,  I  wish  you'd  wait  a  moment. 

HENRY.     What  for,  my  dear? 

LETITIA.    Mother  has  something  to  say  .  .  . 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  this  idea 
of  going  to  the  country  in  the  winter-time. 

HENRY.  Oh !  There's  no  use  talking  about  that,  Mrs. 
Masterson.  I  see  I  can't  have  my  way,  so  there's  no  more 
to  be  said.  I'm  not  the  sort  of  man  to  sulk. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  But  such  an  idea,  Henry !  For  a 
delicate  woman  like  Letitia  .  .  . 

HENRY.  I  know  ...  I  know.  I'd  have  taken  care  of 
her  .  .  .  but  that  doesn't  interest  her.  And,  of  course, 
I  can't  take  the  children  away  from  her,  and  there's  not 
much  fun  in  the  country  alone.  So  what's  the  use?  I 
give  up  ...  as  I  give  up  everything.  Good-bye,  all. 
Exit. 

LETITIA.  I  declare — such  a  trial!  A  husband  who's 
lost  his  interest  in  life ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     It's  that  new  cook  of  yours,  Letitia. 

LETITIA.     Every  cook  is  worse. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  What  he  needs  is  some  liver-pills. 
Quincy,  you  should  attend  to  it !  [Rises.']  Well,  I'm  going 
upstairs.  You'll  stay  to  dinner,  Letitia? 

LETITIA.    Yes,  I  want  to  lie  down  for  a  while. 


10  THE  NATURE  WOMAN  [ACT  i 

DR.  MASTERSON.  And  I'll  beat  myself  a  game  of  bil 
liards. 

Exit  with  LETITIA  and  MRS.  MASTERSON. 

ETHEL.  [Drops  her  book  to  floor,  springs  up  and 
paces  the  room.']  Oh!  If  only  I  might  change  places 
with  Oceana!  If  I  could  get  away  to  some  South  Sea 
island,  and  be  my  own  mistress  and  live  my  own  life. 
[Takes  photograph.]  Oceana !  I'm  wild  to  see  you !  I 
want  to  see  you  dancing.  Your  Sunrise  Dance  .  .  .  and  to 
your  own  music!  [Begins  to  hum  the  Sunrise  Dance.] 
Oceana !  Oceana ! 

A  step  in  the  hall,  she  turns. 

FREDDY.  [Enters  briskly;  a  college  boy,  about  twenty- 
one,  overgrown,  narrow-chested,  good-natured  and 
slangy.]  Ethel ! 

ETHEL.     [Starts]     Freddy!     Where's  Oceana? 

FREDDY.     She  won't  get  here  till  morning. 

ETHEL.     Oh,  Freddy ! 

FREDDY.  They  can't  dock  the  steamer  to-night  .  .  . 
there's  some  tangle  at  the  pier. 

ETHEL.    Did  you  go  and  see? 

FREDDY.  I  telephoned  about  it.  I  didn't  want  to  wait 
in  this  blizzard. 

ETHEL.    I'm  so  sorry! 

FREDDY.    Me,  too.     But  there's  no  help  for  it. 

ETHEL.  So  long  as  she  doesn't  miss  to-morrow  night ! 
Did  I  read  you  what  she  said  about  that,  Freddy  ?  [Takes 
letter  from  pocket]  "I'll  pray  for  fair  weather,  so  that 
I  may  get  there  to  see  the  beautiful  dancing.  There  is 
nothing  in  all  the  world  that  I  love  more  .  .  .  my  whole 
being  seems  to  flow  into  the  dance.  I  send  you  the  music  of 
my  Sunrise  Dance,  that  father  composed  for  me.  You  can 
learn  it,  and  I'll  do  it  for  you.  I  don't  know,  of  course; 
but  father  used  to  think  that  I  was  wonderful  in  it  .  .  . 
and  he  had  known  all  the  great  dancers  in  Europe.  It  was 


ACT  i]  THE  NATUREWOMAN  11 

the  last  thing  I  heard  him  play,  before  he  went  out  in 
the  boat,  and  I  saw  him  perish  before  my  eyes."  Don't 
you  think  that  she  writes  beautifully,  Freddy? 

FREDDY.     Yes;  it's  surprising. 

ETHEL.  Oh,  yes.  Her  father  was  an  extraordinary 
man,  Henry  says  ...  a  musician  and  a  poet.  They  had 
books  and  everything,  apparently.  You'd  think  she's  been 
living  in  Europe. 

FREDDY.     I  see. 

ETHEL.  Listen  to  this :  [Reads.]  "About  my  name  .  .  . 
I  forgot  to  explain.  You  see,  Anna  sounds  like  England 
...  or  New  England  .  .  .  and  I  am  not  the  least  like 
those  places.  Father  used  to  see  me,  as  a  little  tot,  diving 
through  the  breakers,  and  floating  out  in  the  sea,  with 
the  snow-white  frigate-birds  flashing  by  overhead;  and  he 
said  I  was  the  very  spirit  of  the  island  and  the  wild,  lonely 
ocean.  So  he  called  me  Oceana,  and  that's  the  name  I've 
always  borne." 

FREDDY.     It  just  fits  my  idea  of  her. 

ETHEL.  She  goes  on:  "You  mustn't  be  surprised  at 
what  I  am.  You  may  think  it's  dreadful  .  .  .  even  wicked. 
But  at  least  don't  expect  anything  like  you've  ever  known 
before.  Fifteen  years  with  only  cocoa-palms  and  naked 
savages  ...  the  Boston  varnish  rubs  off  one.  But  I'm 
going  to  try  to  behave.  I  expect  to  feel  quite  at  home 
...  I  have  pictures  of  all  of  you,  and  a  picture  of  the 
house  ...  I  even  have  father's  keys,  to  let  myself  in 
with  !" 

FREDDY.     Can  you  play  her  music,  Ethel? 

ETHEL.  Play  it?  I  could  play  it  in  my  sleep.  [Opens 
piano.]  The  Sunrise  Dance !  [She  sits  and  plays.] 
Listen ! 

She  plunges  into  the  ecstatic  part  of  the  music. 
FREDDY  leans  by  the  piano,  watching  her;  she  plays, 
more  and  more  enthralled.  The  door  opens  softly. 


12  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  i 

OCEANA  enters;  a  girl  of  twenty-two,  superbly 
formed,  dark-skinned,  a  picture  of  glowing  health. 
She  is  clad  in  a  short  skirt  and  a  rough  sailor's 
reefer  with  cap  to  match;  underneath  this  a  knitted 
garment,  tight-fitting  and  soft — no  corsets.  She 
carries  two  extremely  heavy  suitcases,  and  with  no 
apparent  effort.  She  sets  these  down  and  stands 
listening  to  the  music,  completely  absorbed  in  it. 
There  is  the  faintest  suggestion  of  the  Sunrise 
Dance  in  her  attitude. 

OCEANA  is  trusting,  and  yet  with  power  of  re 
serve.  Throughout  the  action,  however  vehe 
mently  she  speaks,  she  seldom  really  grows  angry; 
she  docs  not  take  the  game  seriously  enough.  On  the 
other  hand  her  enjoyment,  however  keen,  never 
becomes  boisterous.  Her  actions  proceed  from  a 
continual  overflow  of  animal  health.  She  is  like  a 
little  child,  in  that  she  cannot  remain  physically 
still  for  very  long  at  a  time;  she  moves  about  the 
room  like  an  animal  in  a  cage.  Her  speech  pro 
ceeds  from  an  overwhelming  interest  in  the  truth, 
regardless  of  all  personality.  She  never  conceals 
anything,  and  she  never  represses  anything. 

ETHEL.     [Finishes  the  music,  then  turns,  and  leaps  up.] 
Oceana ! 

FREDDY.     {Turns.']     Oceana ! 

OCEANA.     Ethel !      [Embraces    her.]      Oh,    my    dear ! 
How  glad  I  am  to  see  you! 

ETHEL.    Oceana !    But  how  did  you  get  here  ? 

OCEANA.    I  came  on  the  steamer. 

FREDDY.     But  it  isn't  docked! 

OCEANA.     They  took  us  to  another  dock. 

ETHEL.    [Holds  her  at  arm's  length.]    Oh,  how  fine  you 
are! 


ACT  ij  THE  NATriillWOMAN  1,'j 

OCEANA.  And  you — you  can  play  my  father's  music ! 
I'm  so  glad ! 

ETHEL.     You  liked  the  way  I  played  it? 

OCEANA.  I  liked  it !  And  so  I  know  I  shall  like  you ! 
And  I'm  so  happy  about  it — I  wanted  to  like  you ! 

ETHEL.     But  how  big  you  are ! 

OCEANA.  [Laughing.]  Oh,  that's  the  clothes.  I  got 
them  in  Rio.  They're  queer,  I  guess,  but  I  only  had  a 
couple  of  hours.  And  this  is  Freddy !  [They  shake 
hands.]  It's  so  good  to  be  here ! 

FREDDY.     How  did  you  get  from  the  dock? 

OCEANA.     I  walked. 

ETHEL.     Walked  all  the  way? 

OCEANA.    Of  course  ...  I  enjoyed  it. 

ETHEL.     But  in  the  storm ! 

OCEANA.  I  didn't  mind  that.  It's  all  new  to  me,  you 
see.  My  dear,  think  of  it  ...  I've  never  seen  snow 
before.  I  was  fairly  crazy. 

She  pulls  off  the  coat  and  throws  it  on  one  of  the 
suitcases. 

ETHEL.  I  must  tell  mother.  And  Letitia  !  [Opens  door 
and  calls.]  Mother  !  Letitia  !  Oceana's  here  ! 

FREDDY.     [Stoops  to  pick  up  the  suitcases.]     Why  .    .    . 

OCEANA.     What  is  it? 

FREDDY.  [He  moves  them  against  the  wall  with  a 
great  effort.]  You  don't  mean  you  carried  those ! 

OCEANA.     Why,  yes. 

FREDDY.     From  the  docks? 

OCEANA.     [Laughs.]     Oh,  dear  me !    I  didn't  mind  that. 

FREDDY.    Well  .  .  .  I'll  be  blowed ! 

He  has  fallen  head  over  heels  in  love  with  her,  and 
whenever  he  is  in  her  presence  he  follows  her  about 
with  his  eyes,  like  one  bewitched. 

OCEANA.  You  aren't  strong  as  you  ought  to  be!  You 
stay  too  much  in  the  house ! 


14  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  i 

ETHEL.     Here's  mother ! 

OCEANA.     Aunt  Sophronia ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  [Enters.']  My  dear  Anna!  [Kisses 
her  upon  the  cheek.]  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  safe. 

ETHEL.     And  Letitia! 

OCEANA.     Cousin  Letitia ! 

LETITIA.  [Enters."}  My  dear  cousin !  So  glad  you 
are  here! 

OCEANA.  [Looking  from  one  to  the  other,  as  they  eye 
her  critically. .]  Oh,  are  you  really  glad  to  see  me?  You 
must  be,  you  know  .  .  .  for  I've  come  so  far.  And  you've 
no  idea  how  homesick  I've  been. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Homesick,  my  dear?  For  that  wild 
place  you  left? 

OCEANA.  But  Aunt  Sophronia,  that's  my  home!  And 
it's  God's  own  dream  of  beauty ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.    Yes,  my  dear  ...  I  dare  say  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  Ah,  you've  never  been  there,  or  you  wouldn't 
feel  that  way  !  Picture  it  as  it  is  at  this  moment  .  .  .  the 
broad  white  beach  .  .  .  the  sun  setting  and  the  clouds 
aflame  .  .  .  the  great  green  breakers  rolling  in  ...  the 
frigate-birds  calling  .  .  .  the  palm  trees  rustling  in  the 
wind !  And  you  don't  have  to  wrap  yourself  up  in  clothes 
.  .  .  you  don't  have  to  shut  yourself  up  in  houses !  You 
plunge  through  the  surf,  you  dance  upon  the  beach  .  .  . 
naked  .  .  . 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     [Aghast.~]     My  dear  girl ! 

OCEANA.     Oh,  oh  !     That's  so  !    I  beg  your  pardon ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  [Coldly.~]  It  will  take  you  a  little 
while  to  get  used  to  civilized  ways  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  Oh,  no,  no,  no !  I  know  about  that  ...  I 
know  how  it  is.  Father  told  me  about  Boston. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.    My  dear  .   .   . 

OCEANA.  Don't  worry  about  me.  I'm  really  going  to 
try  to  behave  myself  ...  in  every  way.  I  want  to  get  the 


ACT  ij  THE  NATUREWOMAN  15 

right  sort  of  clothes,  you  know.  I  couldn't  get  them  on 
my  trip  .  .  . 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  It's  just  as  well,  my  dear.  You'd 
best  have  us  attend  to  that.  You  will  need  mourning  for 
quite  a  while,  you  understand. 

OCEANA.     Mourning ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.    Yes  .   .   .  for  your  grandfather. 

OCEANA.  But,  my  dear  Aunt  Sophronia,  I  couldn't  pos 
sibly  wear  mourning !  No,  no  !  I  couldn't  do  that ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     [A stonished.]     Why  not? 

OCEANA.     In  the  first  place,  I  never  mourn. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     But  your  own  grandfather,  my  dear ! 

OCEANA.  But  I  never  knew  him.  Aunt  Sophronia  .  .  . 
1  never  saw  him  in  my  life ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Even  so,  my  dear !  Hasn't  he  left 
you  all  his  fortune? 

OCEANA.  But  am  I  supposed  to  mourn  over  that? 
Why,  I'd  naturally  be  happy  about  that! 

LETITIA.     Oceana ! 

OCEANA.  But  surely  .  .  .  wouldn't  you  be  happy 
about  it  ? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  My  child,  one  is  not  supposed  to 
set  so  much  store  by  mere  money  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  But  Aunt  Sophronia,  money  is  power!  And 
isn't  anybody  glad  to  have  power?  What  else  did  I  come 
here  for? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  I  had  hoped  you  had  come  home  for 
some  other  things  ...  to  see  your  relatives,  for  instance. 

ETHEL.     Here's  father! 

OCEANA.     Uncle  Quincy ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.  [Enters.]  My  dear  girl !  You  have 
come  !  [Embraces  her.}  Why,  what  a  picture  you  are ! 
A  very  storm  from  the  tropics !  My  dear  Oceana ! 

OCEANA.     I'm  so  glad  to  get  here. 

DR.  MASTERSON.     Yes,  indeed !     I  can  believe  it !     And 


16  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  i 

a  strange  experience  it  must  have  been  .  .  .  your  first 
plunge  into  civilization ! 

OCEANA.     Yes,  Uncle  Quincy !     It's  been  horrible ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.     Horrible,  my  dear?    In  what  way? 

OCEANA.  It's  been  almost  too  much  for  me.  Really 
...  I  could  understand  how  it  might  feel  to  be  sick ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.    Why,  what  did  you  see  ? 

OCEANA.  Everything !  It  rushed  over  me,  all  at  once  ! 
The  people  .  .  .  their  dreadful  faces !  And  such  noises 
and  odors  and  sights ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.    I  hadn't  realized  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  And  then  the  saloons !  Rows  and  rows  of 
them  !  It  is  ghastly ! 

LETITIA.  My  dear  cousin,  mother  and  I  contribute 
regularly  to  a  temperance  society. 

OCEANA.  But  that  hasn't  helped,  has  it?  I'm  almost 
wild  about  such  things — they  were  the  real  reason  I  came 
home,  you  know. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     How  do  you  mean? 

OCEANA.  They  had  got  to  my  island !  They  are  turning 
it  into  a  hell! 

DR.  MASTERSON.     In  what  way  ? 

OCEANA.  Why,  it's  a  long  story.  I  didn't  write  .  .  . 
it  would  have  taken  too  long.  Two  years  ago  there  was 
a  ship  laid  up  ...  and  the  crew  found,  quite  by  accident, 
that  our  island  rock  is  all  phosphate ;  something  very  valu 
able  .  .  .  for  fertilizer,  it  seems.  So  they  bought  land 
from  the  natives,  and  now  there's  a  company,  and  a  trad 
ing-post,  and  all  that.  And  oh,  my  people  are  going  all 
to  pieces ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.    The  natives,  you  mean? 

OCEANA.  Yes  .  .  .  the  people  I  have  loved  all  my  life. 
And  I've  tried  so  hard  .  .  .  I've  pleaded  with  them,  I've 
wept  and  prayed  with  them  !  But  they're  lost ! 

LETITIA.     You  mean  rum? 


ACT  i]  THE  NATUREWOMAN  17 

OCEANA.  I  mean  everything.  Rum,  and  cocaine,  and 
sugar,  and  canned  food,  and  clothes,  and  missionaries 
...  all  civilization !  And  worse  yet,  Aunt  Sophronia 
.  .  .  ah,  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it ! 

MRS.    MASTERSON.      What? 

OCEANA.  You  wouldn't  let  me  tell  you  what.  [In  a  low 
voice.]  Imagine  my  people,  my  beautiful  people,  with 
the  soft,  brown  skins  and  the  big  black  eyes,  and  hair  like 
the  curtains  of  night.  They  are  not  savages,  you  under 
stand  .  .  .  they  are  gentle  and  kindly.  They  ride  the  rush 
ing  breakers  in  their  frail  canoes,  they  fish  and  gather 
fruits  in  the  forests,  they  dream  in  the  soft,  warm  sunshine 
.  .  .  they  are  happy,  they  are  care-free,  their  whole  life  is 
a  song.  And  they  are  trusting,  hospitable  .  .  .  the  wonder 
ful  white  strangers  come,  and  they  take  them  into  their 
homes,  and  open  their  hearts  to  them.  And  the  strangers 
go  away  and  leave  them  a  ghastly  disease,  that  rages  like 
a  fire  in  their  palm-thatched  cabins,  that  sweeps  through 
their  villages  like  a  tornado.  And  the  women's  hair  falls 
out  .  .  .  they  wither  up  ...  they're  old  hags  in  a  year 
or  two.  And  the  babies  .  .  .  I've  helped  bring  them  into 
the  world  .  .  .  and  they  had  no  lips  .  .  .  their  noses  were 
gone !  They  were  idiots  .  .  .  blind  .  .  . 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  [ Wildly.]  Anna  Talbot!  I  must 
beg  you  to  have  a  little  discretion ! 

LETITIA.  Why  should  we  hear  about  these  things, 
Oceana? 

OCEANA.  My  dear,  it  comes  from  America.  The  ships 
came  from  here!  There  was  one  of  them  I  saw  .  .  . 
"The  Mary  Jane,  of  Boston,  Mass." 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  No  doubt,  among  such  low  men  .  ... 
men  of  vile  life  .  .  .  sailors  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  No,  Aunt  Sophronia  .  .  .  you're  mistaken ! 
It's  everywhere.  Isn't  it,  Uncle  Quincy?  You're  a  doc 
tor  .  .  .  you  must  know ! 


18  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  i 

DR.  MASTERSON.    Why,  to  tell  the  truth  .   .   . 

OCEANA.     Tell  the  truth!     Am  I  not  right? 

FREDDY.     Of  course  you're  right! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     Freddy ! 

OCEANA.     Ah  !     You  know  ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     This  is  outrageous  ! 

OCEANA.  You  mean  you  don't  teach  your  children  about 
it?  Why  .  .  . 

She  stares  at  them,  perplexed. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  You  don't  understand  our  ways, 
Anna  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  No,  no  ...  I  don't.  I  don't  think  I  ever  can. 
You'd  let  some  man  come  and  make  love  to  Ethel  .  .  . 
and  you'd  never  warn  her? 

ETHEL.  They  warned  me  to  turn  my  toes  out  when  I 
walked,  and  not  to  eat  fish  with  a  knife. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  If  this  conversation  is  to  go  on,  I 
insist  that  the  children  shall  leave  the  room. 

OCEANA.  Oh,  I'm  awfully  sorry,  Aunt  Sophronia ! 
Why,  I  didn't  mean  any  harm.  It's  all  so  real  to  me. 
[She  gazes  -from  one  to  the  other,  hoping  for  some  sign 
of  a  thaw.~]  Just  think  .  .  .  these  were  the  people  that  I'd 
loved  .  .  .  that  I'd  grown  up  with  all  my  life.  I'd  fished  in 
their  canoes,  I'd  hunted  with  them  and  basked  on  the 
beach  with  them.  I'd  watched  the  young  men  and  girls 
dancing  their  love-dances  in  the  moonlit  glades  .  .  .  [She 
pauses  again.]  Oughtn't  I  to  talk  about  that? 

DR.  MASTERSON.    My  dear  girl  .   .   . 

OCEANA.  [Stares  at  them;  a  sudden  idea  occurs  to 
her.]  Perhaps  I  ought  to  explain  to  you  .  .  .  you're  no 
doubt  wondering.  I'm  a  virgin  myself,  you  know. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     [Starting  up.]     Oh! 

LETITIA.    Oceana ! 

OCEANA.     But  weren't  you  thinking  of  that? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     Why,  of  course  not ! 


ACT  i]  THE  NATUREWOMAN  19 

OCEANA.     But  Aunt  Sophronia  !     You  know  you  were ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.    [Sputters.]     Oh !    Oh ! 

OCEANA.  You  were  thinking  to  yourself,  this  girl's  been 
playing  around  on  the  beaches  with  savages  .  .  .  and 
what's  been  happening  to  her? 

DR.  MASTERSON.  My  dear  niece,  I'm  afraid  you'll  have 
to  take  some  account  of  our  civilized  prejudices.  We 
simply  don't  say  everything  that  we  think. 

OCEANA.  [Springing  up.']  Oh,  dear  me  !  I'm  so  sorry  ! 
I  didn't  mean  to  make  you  unhappy !  I  was  going  to  be 
so  good.  I  was  going  to  try  to  conform  to  everything. 
Why,  just  think  of  it,  Aunt  Sophronia  ...  in  Rio  I 
actually  bought  a  pair  of  corsets.  And  I  tried  to  wear 
them.  I  ...  Oceana !  Around  my  waist !  Think  of  it ! 
[She  looks  for  sympathy.']  I  couldn't  stand  them  .  .  . 
I  climbed  to  the  topmast  and  threw  them  to  the  sharks. 
But  now  it  seems  that  you  all  wear  corsets  on  your 
minds  and  souls.  [A  pause.']  Never  mind  .  .  .  let's  talk 
about  something  else.  I'm  getting  restless.  You  see  .  .  . 
I'm  not  used  to  being  in  a  room  ...  it  seems  like  a  box 
to  me  ...  I  can  hardly  breathe.  The  air  in  here  is 
dreadful  .  .  .  hadn't  any  of  you  noticed?  [Silence.  Ap 
parently  nobody  had.']  Would  you  mind  if  I  opened  a 
window? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     It  is  storming  outside,  Anna. 

OCEANA.  Yes,  but  one  can  exercise  and  keep  warm. 
Just  a  minute  .  .  .  please.  [She  flings  up  a  window;  a 
gale  blows  in.}  Ah,  feel  that ! 

MRS.    MASTERSON,   LETITIA   and  DR.    MASTERSON    draw 

away  from  the  window. 
MRS.  MASTERSON.     This  is  simply  outrageous ! 
LETITIA.     It  is  beyond  all  words ! 
DR.  MASTERSON.    My  dear,  consider  .  .   . 
MRS.   MASTERSON.     I   won't   have   that  creature   in   my 
house  a  minute  longer. 


20  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  i 

DR.  MASTERSON.     My  dear,  be  reasonable ! 

LETITIA.    Reasonable? 

DR.    MASTERSON.     Consider   what  is   at   stake ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  But  what  hope  have  we  to  get  any 
thing  out  of  such  a  woman? 

DR.  MASTERSON.  We  have  some  hope,  I'm  sure.  If 
we  .  .  . 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Didn't  you  hear  her  say  she'd  come 
home  for  nothing  but  the  money? 

DR.  MASTERSON.  Yes  .  .  .  but  at  least  she's  honest 
enough  to  say  it,  Sophronia.  And  she's  here  as  our  guest 
.  .  .  she  wants  to  be  friendly  .  .  .  don't  let  it  come  to  an 
open  break  with  her ! 

LETITIA.     But  how  can  we  help  it,  father? 

DR.  MASTERSON.  It's  just  a  matter  of  letting  her  talk. 
And  what  harm  will  that  do  us? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  But  we  can't  lock  her  up  in  the 
house.  And  can  we  introduce  her  to  our  friends?  To 
morrow  night,  for  instance ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.  We  must  manage  it  somehow.  When 
we've  once  had  an  understanding  with  her,  it  won't  take 
long  to  get  the  papers  signed,  and  after  that  we  won't 
care.  Control  yourself,  Sophronia,  I  implore  you !  Don't 
let  your  prejudices  ruin  us ! 

ETHEL.  [Steals  to  them,  in  agitation.']  Mother,  can't 
you  be  good  to  her?  You  don't  understand  her  at  all. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.    \Coldly.~\    Thank  you,  Ethel  .   .   . 

ETHEL.  [To  FREDDY,  who  joins  them.~]  Can't  you  say 
something  to  them,  Freddy?  They  treat  her  so  badly. 

FREDDY.  They  hate  her,  Ethel!  They  couldn't  under 
stand  her. 

OCEANA  takes  deep  breaths,  expelling  them  in  short, 
sharp  puffs. 

LETITIA.     What  in  the  world  are  you  doing? 


ACT  i]  THE  NATUREWOMAN  21 

OCEANA.  That's  one  of  the  Yogi  exercises.  Haven't 
any  of  you  studied  the  Vedantas? 

LETITIA.     We  are  all  Episcopalians  here,  Oceana. 

OCEANA.    Oh,  I  see  ! 

She  takes  a  deep  breath  and  then  pounds  her  chest 
like  a  gorilla. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     And  pray,  what  is  that? 

OCEANA.  I'm  just  getting  some  of  the  civilization  out 
of  my  lungs. 

A  furious  gale  blows. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Really,  my  dear,  we  shall  have  to 
leave  the  room.  We'll  all  catch  our  death  of  cold. 

OCEANA.  My  dear  Aunt  Sophronia,  nobody  ever  caught 
a  cold  from  winter  air.  Colds  come  from  over-eating  and 
bad  ventilation.  [She  closes  the  window.']  However, 
there  you  are!  [Eagerly.']  Now,  let's  have  something 
beautiful — so  that  I  can  forget  my  blunders.  Let's  have 
some  music.  Will  you  play  for  me,  Cousin  Letitia? 

LETITIA.     I  don't  play,  my  dear. 

OCEANA.  What?  Why,  father  told  me  you  played  all 
the  time! 

LETITIA.    That  was  before  my  marriage. 

OCEANA.  Oh,  I  see!  [Laughs.]  The  music  has  ac 
complished  its  purpose !  [Stops,  alarmed.']  Oh !  I've 
done  it  again !  [Goes  to  LETITIA.]  My  dear  cousin,  be 
lieve  me,  I  meant  no  offense.  I'm  never  personal.  I  was 
simply  formulating  a  principle  of  sociology ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  You  have  strange  ways,  my  dear 
niece. 

DR.  MASTERSON.     Are  you  always  so  direct,  so  ruthless? 

OCEANA.  That's  the  word,  isn't  it?  That's  what  father 
taught  me.  Never  to  think  about  personalities  .  .  .  to  go 
after  the  truth !  He  used  to  quote  that  saying  of 
Nietzsche's:  "To  hunger  after  knowledge  as  the  lion  for 
his  food!" 


22  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  i 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Oh,  you  read  Nietzsche,  do  you? 
How  could  you  get  such  books? 

OCEANA.  We  had  a  government  steamer  from  New 
Zealand  three  times  a  year,  you  know.  That  brought  our 
mail. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  And  your  father  permitted  you  to 
read  these  improper  things? 

OCEANA.  My  father  taught  me  to  face  the  facts  of  my 
being.  My  father  was  a  fighter,  you  know. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     [Grimly.]     Yes,  I  knew  that. 

OCEANA.  Life  had  hurt  him.  Some  day  you  must  tell 
me  about  it  ...  what  it  was  that  happened  to  him  here  in 
Boston.  He  never  would  talk  about  it,  but  I've  often 
wondered.  It  must  have  been  my  mother.  What  did  she 
do  to  him  before  she  died?  [She  pauses,  expecting  an 
answer.]  Was  it  that  she  was  just  conventional  like 
you?  [She  pauses  again.]  It  must  have  been  something 
dreadful  ...  he  felt  so  keenly  about  it.  He  burned  it  into 
my  very  soul  .  .  .  his  fear  of  civilization.  And  here  I  am 
.  .  .  right  in  the  midst  of  it  .  .  .  I'm  letting  it  get  its 
claws  into  me  !  I'm  wearing  its  clothes  .  .  .  [She  tears  at 
them.]  I'm  breathing  its  air !  I  don't  believe  I  can  stand 
it !  [She  paces  the  room  restlessly.]  My  soul  is  suffocat 
ing,  as  well  as  my  body.  I  must  have  something  to  remind 
me  of  the  sky,  and  the  open  sea,  and  the  great  spaces.  I 
must  go  back  again  to  my  home,  to  my  island !  [Stretches 
out  her  arms  to  them  appealingly.]  Ah,  can't  some  of 
you  understand  about  it?  Can't  some  of  you  take  pity  on 
me?  It's  so  strange  to  me  ...  so  different  from  every 
thing  I've  been  used  to  !  Aunt  Sophronia  ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     [Takes  a  step  reluctantly.]    My  dear ! 

ETHEL.  [Springing  forward.]  No !  No !  They  don't 
understand !  They  don't  really  care. 

MRS.    MASTERSON.       Ethel  ! 

PCEANA.     But  you  !     Ethel ! 


ACT  i]  THE  NATURE  WOMAN  »:J 

ETHEL.  [Rushes  and  flings  herself  at  OCEANA'S  feet, 
clutching  her  dress."]  Take  me  with  you!  Take  me  away 
to  your  island ! 

OCEANA.  [Turning  to  FREDDY.]  And  you  .  .  .  won't 
you  be  my  friend? 

FREDDY.  [Goes  to  her.]  I  will!  [She  holds  out  her 
hand  to  him;  he  hesitates,  gazing  at  her  awe-stricken.] 
May  I  ...  may  I  take  your  hand? 

OCEANA.     Why  certainly ! 

FREDDY.     [With  fervor.']     Oceana! 

CURTAIN 


THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  n 


ACT  II 

SCENE:    Same  as  Act  I. 

At  rise:  DR.  MASTERSON  in  easy-chair  near  the  window; 
opens  newspaper,  sighs,  wipes  glasses,  prepares  to 
read. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     \Ent  crs  with  LETITIA.]    Well ! 
DR.  MASTERSON.     Home,  are  you? 
MRS.  MASTERSON.     Yes !     And  such  a  day! 
LETITIA.     Shopping  with  Oceana  ! 

DR.   MASTERSON.       Humph  ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Imagine  buying  clothes  for  a  woman 
who  won't  squeeze  her  waist,  and  won't  let  her  skirts 
touch  the  ground! 

DR.  MASTERSON.  Why  didn't  you  take  her  to  the  men's 
department  ? 

LETITIA.     Don't  make  a  joke  of  it,  father. 

DR.  MASTERSON.     How  did  you  make  out? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Well,  we've  got  her  so  the  police 
won't  molest  her. 

LETITIA.  We  told  Madame  Clarice  her  trunks  had  been 
misplaced  in  the  steamer  hold. 

DR.    MASTERSON.       Ingenious  ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Yes !  Only  she  spoiled  it  all  by  tell 
ing  the  truth ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.     Where  is  she  now? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  She's  walking  .  .  .  she  says  she  must 
have  exercise. 

LETITIA.     The  air  in  the  limousine  is  close,  it  seems* 


ACT  n]          THE  NATUREWOMAN  25 

DR.  MASTERSON.  You  got  something  she  could  wear 
to-night? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Oh,  yes,  that  part's  all  right  If  I 
could  only  have  selected  the  things  she's  going  to  say 
to-night ! 

A  pause. 

DR.  MASTERSON.    Well,  and  what  are  the  signs? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     I  don't  know.    I  can't  read  her  at  all. 

DR.  MASTERSON.     You  haven't  broached  the  subject  yet? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Not  definitely.  I've  hinted  at  it.  I 
said  we  were  worried  about  the  future  of  Freddy  and 
Ethel. 

DR.  MASTERSON.     And  what  did  she  say  to  that? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  She  said  that  she'd  take  care  of  them, 
if  I'd  let  her. 

DR.  MASTERSON.    Why  .   .   .  that's  promising. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  So  I  thought  .  .  .  till  I  found  she 
meant  taking  them  off  to  the  South  Seas ! 

DR.    MASTERSON.      Oh! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  I  thought  I'd  wait  till  to-night  .  .  . 
after  the  dancing.  You  see,  she'll  have  met  some  com 
pany,  and  I  thought  she  might  be  feeling  more  .  .  .  more 
genial. 

DR.  MASTERSON.     I  understand.    A  good  idea. 

LETITIA.  Miss  Pilkington  ought  to  put  her  in  a  good 
mood. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  She's  passionately  fond  of  fancy 
dancing,  it  seems.  And  Ethel's  been  writing  her  about 
to-night,  so  she's  quite  excited  about  it. 

DR.    MASTERSON.      I    SCC. 

LETITIA.  People  are  wildly  jealous  of  us  because  we 
got  Miss  Pilkington  to  come  here.  Everybody's  talking 
about  it. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  You  haven't  heard  any  criticisms,  I 
hope? 


26  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  n 

LETITIA.     Nothing  that  amounts  to   anything. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  I  wish  I  could  feel  comfortable  about 
it.  It  seems  so  very  daring.  It's  been  only  seven  months 
since  the  funeral.  To  be  sure  .  .  .  father  and  I  hadn't 
spoken  for  ten  years. 

DR.  MASTERSON.  And  everybody  knows  the  entertain 
ment  is  for  charity. 

LETITTA.     And  we've  only  asked  the  very  best  people. 

DR.  MASTERSON.  And  the  date  was  arranged  over  a 
year  ago. 

LETITIA.  And  it  isn't  as  if  we  were  going  to  dance 
ourselves,  mother.  And  then  they  are  "Biblical  Dances," 
too. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  I  know — I  know.  But  then,  the 
world  is  so  quick  to  gossip.  They  might  say  we  were 
doing  it  because  he  left  his  fortune  to  a  girl  in  the 
Cannibal  Islands ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.  Perhaps  it's  just  as  well  the  girl's  to 
be  here. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Yes,  if  we  can  keep  her  within 
bounds.  I  shall  be  on  pins  and  needles  till  it's  over. 

LETITIA.     Such  a  white  elephant  in  one's  home! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  And  then  the  way  Freddy  and  Ethel 
are  behaving! 

LETITIA.  Freddy  wanted  to  stay  from  college  and  Ethel 
from  her  music  lesson — both  of  them  to  go  and  sit  around 
in  the  stores  while  Oceana  bought  clothes ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.     Well,  of  all  things ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     I  hardly  know  Ethel  any  more ! 

LETITIA.  And  Freddy  sits  around  and  stares  at  her 
like  a  man  out  of  his  wits ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  That'll  be  the  next  thing,  I  suppose 
.  .  .  she'll  run  off  and  marry  him ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.  Well,  mightn't  that  be  a  good  way  to 
solve  the  problem  ?  To  keep  the  money  in  the  family  ? 


ACT  n]          THE  NATUREWOMAN  27 

MRS.    MASTERSON.      Quincy  ! 

LETITIA.     Besides — she  mightn't  marry  him. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     Letitia ! 

LETITIA.    Why  not,  mother? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  I'm  sure,  my  child,  you  have  no  rea 
son  for  saying  anything  like  that. 

LETITIA.    I  don't  trust  the  minx ! 
A  pause. 

DR.  MASTERSON.     Has  Henry  got  home? 

LETITIA.     He's  probably  there  now. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     Is  he  coming  here  to  dinner? 

LETITIA.     I'm  not  sure. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  You'd  better  take  my  advice  and  not 
let  him. 

LETITIA.     Why  not? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Because,  the  first  thing  you  know, 
we'll  have  Henry  in  love  with  her,  too. 

LETITIA.     [Horrified.]     Mother! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  I  mean  it,  my  dear — quite  seriously. 
What's  the  meaning  of  all  this  discontent  of  Henry's?  I 
know  him  well  enough  .  .  .  he's  just  the  man  to  be  taken 
in  by  the  tricks  of  such  a  woman !  She'd  give  him  plenty 
of  outdoor  exercise !  She'd  go  live  in  the  country  with 
him! 

LETITIA.     [Springing  «/>.]     Mother !    How  horrible ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Forewarned  is  forearmed,  Letitia. 
You  listen  to  me,  and  let  Henry  see  just  as  little  of  Anna 
Talbot  as  you  can.  And  when  he's  with  her,  you  be  there, 
too. 

LETITIA.     [In  great  agitation.']     I'll  go  home  right  now 
and  see  to  him ! 
Exit. 

DR.  MASTERSON.  [Sighs.~]  Oh,  dear !  And  I  was  wait 
ing  for  Henry  to  play  billiards  with ! 


28  THE  NATUREWOMAN          [ACT  n 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     You  might  get  Anna  to  play  billiards 
with  you.    No  doubt  she's  an  expert. 
Exit  right. 

DR.  MASTERSON  sighs,  shakes  his  head,  and  resumes 
reading. 

OCEANA.  [Enters,  radiant,  clad  in  an  ermine  cloak.'] 
Well,  Uncle  Quincy ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.     Oceana !     Bless  me  !     How  gorgeous  ! 

OCEANA.  [Takes  it  off  and  throws  it  on  the  chair. ,]  It's 
really  too  warm  for  walking. 

DR.  MASTERSON.  I  should  have  thought,  coming  from 
a  tropical  climate  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  Ah,  but  my  blood  circulates,  you  see.  [Sits 
opposite  him.~\  Uncle  Quincy,  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with 
you. 

DR.  MASTERSON.     Yes,  my  dear? 

OCEANA.  Uncle  Quincy,  why  do  you  let  Aunt  Sophronia 
and  Letitia  frighten  you  the  way  they  do? 

DR.  MASTERSON.     My  dear  girl! 

OCEANA.  Take  yesterday  afternoon,  for  instance — what 
I  said  about  syphilis.  You  know  I  was  right,  and  yet  you 
didn't  dare  say  so. 

DR.  MASTERSON.    Really,  Oceana  .   .   . 

OCEANA.  You  are  an  educated  man — a  man  of  science. 
You  know  what  modern  ideas  are.  And  yet  you  consent 
to  be  walked  all  over ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.    My  dear  .   .   . 

OCEANA.  Here  are  these  women  .  .  .  they  have  leisure 
and  opportunity  .  .  .  they  ought  to  be  doing  some  good  in 
the  world.  And  yet  they  haven't  an  idea  except  to  act  as 
other  people  think  they  ought  to  act! 

DR.  MASTERSON.    Dear  me  !    Dear  me ! 
Rises  and  begins  to  pace  the  room. 

OCEANA.     Don't  run  away  from  me. 


ACT  n]          THE  NATUREWOMAN  29 

DR.  MASTERSON.  I'm  not  running  away.  But  you  are 
so  disconcerting,  Oceana  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  I  know;  but  that's  only  because  you  know 
that  what  I  say  is  true,  and  you  don't  like  to  feel  that 
anybody  else  knows  it. 

FREDDY.     [Off.~\     Oceana ! 

OCEANA.     Freddy ! 

FREDDY.     [Enters.]    Oh !    Father's  here ! 

OCEANA.     Yes;  we  were  having  a  chat. 

FREDDY.  [Hesitates.]  Father,  will  you  excuse  me, 
please  ...  I  have  something  very  important  to  say  to 
Oceana.  I've  been  waiting  for  her. 

DR.  MASTERSON.    Why  .   .   .  what  .   .   . 

FREDDY.  Don't  ask  me,  please.  I  must  have  a  talk  with 
her  right  away.  Please  come,  Oceana. 

OCEANA.     All  right. 

DR.  MASTERSON.     I  was  going  to  the  billiard-room,  any 
way.     Pray  excuse  me. 
Exit  centre. 

OCEANA.  [Smiles.]  See  him  run !  Well,  Freddy,  what 
is  it? 

FREDDY.     [Intensely]    Oceana ! 

OCEANA.    What's  the  matter? 

FREDDY.     You  mustn't  stay  here  ! 

OCEANA.     Why  not? 

FREDDY.  They'll  ruin  you,  Oceana !  They'll  crush  you, 
they'll  spoil  you  forever !  You  must  go  away ! 

OCEANA.     Why,  my  dear  boy,  how  can  they  hurt  me? 

FREDDY.  They  will,  they  will !  I've  been  thinking  about 
it  all  day !  I  didn't  go  to  college  ...  I  spent  the  whole 
day  pacing  the  streets. 

OCEANA.     Why,  Freddy ! 

FREDDY.  And  I  want  you  to  come  away !  Come  away 
with  me!  I  want  you  .  .  .  [Wildly]  ...  I  want  you 
to  marry  me ! 


30  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  n 

OCEANA.     [Aghast.']     Why,  Freddy! 

FREDDY.  Oh,  I  know  it's  a  fool  way  ...  to  blurt  it  out 
at  you  like  that.  I  thought  up  a  hundred  ways  to  say  it  to 
you.  I  had  a  fine  speech  all  by  heart,  but  I  can't  remember 
a  word  of  it.  When  I  see  you  I  can't  even  think  straight. 
I'm  simply  beside  myself  ...  I  can't  rest,  I  can't  sleep,  I 
can't  do  anything.  I  used  to  laugh  at  such  ideas,  but  now 
I'm  frightened  at  myself.  Can't  you  understand  me, 
Oceana  ?  Oceana  ...  I  love  you ! 

OCEANA.     [Whispers.']    My  poor  boy! 

FREDDY.  I  don't  ask  you  to  say  yes  ...  I  just  ask  you 
to  give  me  a  chance  ...  a  hope.  If  I  thought  I  might 
win  you,  I'd  do  anything  .  .  .  anything !  I'd  wait  for 
you  ...  I'd  work  for  you  ...  I'd  worship  you ! 
Oceana!  [He  stops.]  May  I  ...  May  I  take  your 
hand?  [She  does  not  give  it.~\  Ah,  no!  I  have  no 
right !  Oceana,  listen  to  me !  I  have  thought  that  I 
was  in  love  before  .  .  .  but  it  was  just  childish,  it  was 
nothing  like  this.  This  has  been  a  revelation  to  me  ... 
it  makes  all  the  world  seem  different  to  me.  And  just 
see  how  suddenly  it's  come  .  .  .  why,  yesterday  I  was  a 
boy !  Yesterday  I  thought  some  things  were  interesting 
.  .  .  and  to-day  I  wonder  how  I  could  have  cared  about 
them.  Nothing  seems  the  same  to  me.  And  it  all  hap 
pened  at  once,  it  was  like  an  explosion  ...  the  first 
instant  I  laid  eyes  on  you  I  knew  that  you  were  the  one 
woman  I  could  ever  love.  And  I  said  to  myself,  she  will 
laugh  at  you. 

He  hesitates. 

OCEANA.    No,  I  won't  laugh  at  you. 

FREDDY.  I  tried  to  keep  it  to  myself,  but  I  couldn't  .  .  . 
not  if  I  were  to  be  hanged  for  it.  I'm  just  .  .  .  just  torn 
out  of  myself.  I'm  trembling  with  delight,  and  then  I'm 
plunged  into  despair,  and  then  I  stop  to  think  and  I'm  ter 
rified.  For  I  don't  know  what  I  can  do.  Everything  in 


ACT  n]          THE  NATUREWOMAN  ?M 

my  life  is  gone — I  won't  know  how  to  live  if  you  send  me 
away. 

OCEANA.  [Gravely.'}  Freddy,  come  sit  down  here.  Be 
rational  now. 

FREDDY.    Yes. 

He  sits  watching  her,  in  a  kind  of  daze. 

OCEANA.  In  the  first  place,  Freddy  .  .  .  you  must  under 
stand,  it  isn't  the  first  time  this  has  happened  to  me. 

FREDDY.     No,  I  suppose  not. 

OCEANA.  The  officers  of  the  ships  always  used  to  fall 
in  love  with  me.  There  were  three  on  this  last  steamer. 

FREDDY.     Yes. 

OCEANA.  You  say  to  marry  you.  But  it's  difficult  for 
me  to  imagine  myself  marrying  any  man,  no  matter  how 
much  I  loved  him.  One  has  to  make  so  many  promises, 
you  know. 

FREDDY.     How  do  you  mean? 

OCEANA.     You  have  to  "love,  honor  and  obey." 

FREDDY.     But,  Oceana !     That's  a  mere  form. 

OCEANA.  No,  no.  It's  written  in  the  laws.  All  kinds 
of  things  .  .  .  people  don't  realize  it. 

FREDDY.  But  surely  ...  if  you  love  a  man  ...  a 
decent  man  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  No  decent  man  ought  to  ask  a  woman  to  sign 
away  her  self-respect. 

FREDDY.  [Bewildered.']  But  then  .  .  .  then  .  .  .  what 
would  you  do? 

OCEANA.  [Watches  him,  then  laughs  to  herself.]  Bos 
ton  is  such  a  funny  place ! 

FREDDY.     Hey  ? 

OCEANA.  Let  us  leave  marriage  out  now  ...  let  us  talk 
of  love.  Realize  how  much  more  serious  it  is  to  a  woman 
than  it  is  to  a  man.  A  man  meets  a  woman  and  he  finds 
her  beautiful,  and  his  blood  begins  to  boil,  and  he  says: 
"I  adore  you."  And  so  she  gives  herself  to  him;  and 


32  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  u 

then,    the    next    morning,    he    goes    off    and    forgets    all 
about  it. 

FREDDY-       No,    no  ! 

OCEANA.  I  don't  say  you,  Freddy.  But  it's  happened 
that  way.  The  woman,  though  .  .  .  she  doesn't  forget. 
She  carries  a  reminder.  And  it's  not  only  that  she  has  the 
burden  of  the  child  .  .  .  the  anguish  of  the  birth  .  .  .  the 
task  of  suckling  and  rearing  it.  It's  that  she  has  a  minia 
ture  of  the  man  with  her  all  the  rest  of  her  days.  She  has 
his  soul  there  .  .  .  blended  with  the  thing  she  loves  most 
of  all  in  the  world.  And  so,  don't  you  see  how  careful  she 
has  to  be,  how  desperately  important  the  thing  is  to  her0 
[She  sits  lost  in  thought.]  I  have  never  been  in  love, 
Freddy,  not  the  least  little  bit.  I  have  never  felt  that  call 
in  my  blood.  But  some  day  I  shall  feel  it;  and  when  I 
do,  I  shall  take  that  man  as  if  before  a  court  of  judg 
ment.  I  shall  take  him  away  with  me.  I  shall  ask  myself 
not  merely,  "Is  he  beautiful  and  strong  of  body?"  but, 
"Is  he  beautiful  and  strong  in  soul?"  I  would  not  ask 
that  he  be  learned  ...  he  might  not  chance  to  be  a  cul 
tured  man.  But  he  would  be  a  man  of  power,  he  would  be 
a  man  who  could  rule  himself,  he  would  be  a  soul  without 
base  alloy.  And  when  I  had  satisfied  myself  as  to  that, 
I  would  have  found  my  mate.  I  would  say  to  him,  "I 
wish  you  to  be  the  father  of  my  child."  [She  sits  again, 
brooding.]  I  would  not  exact  pledges  of  him.  I  would  say 
to  him,  "I  do  not  ask  you  to  take  care  of  me ;  I  do  not  ask 
you  to  take  care  of  my  child.  You  may  go  away  when 
you  wish  .  .  .  that  rests  with  you;  but  /  wish  the  child." 
[She  pauses.]  Do  you  see? 

FREDDY.  Yes,  I  see.  [He  gazes  at  her,  frightened.] 
And  you  .  .  .  you  do  not  feel  that  way  about  me  ? 

OCEANA.     Not  the  least  little  bit,  Freddy. 

FREDDY.     And  if  I  waited  ever  so  long? 

OCEANA.    I  do  not  believe  that  I  should  ever  feel  it 


ACT  n]  THE  NATUKKWOMAN  33 

[She  puts  her  hand  upon  his  arm.]  My  dear,  dear  boy ! 
Learn  to  look  at  it  as  I  do.  Face  it  like  a  man.  It  is  one  of 
those  things  that  we  cannot  help  .  .  .  that  we  do  not  even 
understand.  It  is  the  chemistry  of  sex;  it  is  Nature's 
voice  speaking  to  us.  It  means  no  disgrace  to  you  that  I 
do  not  love  you  ...  it  means  no  inferiority,  no  defeat.  It 
is  the  signal  that  Nature  gives  us,  that  we  wait  for,  and 
dare  not  disregard.  You  dare  not  ask  me  to  disre 
gard  it !  [He  is  gazing  into  her  eyes  like  one  entranced.'] 
You  must  let  me  teach  you  .  .  .  you  must  let  me  help  you. 
You  must  not  let  this  mean  misery  and  despair.  Take 
hold  of  yourself.  Perhaps  you  and  Ethel  can  go  back 
with  me  to  my  island  ...  for  I  think  that  I  am  going. 
[He  continues  to  gaze  at  her,  speechless  with  admiration. 
She  presses  his  arm.']  Now  promise  me. 

FREDDY.     What  ? 

OCEANA.    That  you  will  be  a  man. 
They  gaze  into  each  other's  eyes. 

ETHEL.     [Off.']     Oceana ! 

OCEANA.     Here  is  your  sister.     Let  us  not  trouble  her. 
[Aloud.']     Ethel ! 

ETHEL.     [Enters  in  street  costume.]    Oh,  here  you  are ! 
And  your  new  clothes ! 

OCEANA.     Do  you  like  me? 

ETHEL.     No,  they  don't  belong  to  you ! 

OCEANA.     [Laughs.']     Well,  I  shan't  wear  them  long. 

ETHEL.     What  are  you  going  to  do? 

OCEANA.     I'm  going  to  design  some  for  myself. 

ETHEL.     What  kind? 

OCEANA.    I  don't  know  yet.    But  it'll  be  something  that 
will   leave  my  legs  outside. 

ETHEL.     And  did  you  get  something  beautiful   for  to 
night  ? 

OCEANA.     I  got  something  that  will  do. 

ETHEL.     Oceana,  when  am  I  to  see  the  dance? 


34  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  n 

OCEANA.     I  told  you,  when  I  have  my  costume. 

ETHEL.     But  when  will  that  be? 

OCEANA.     When  my  trunks  have  come. 

FREDDY.     They  came  this  afternoon. 

OCEANA.  Oh  !  Then  we'll  have  it  to-morrow  morning ! 
And  I'll  show  you  my  beautiful  bridal-robe. 

FREDDY.     Bridal-robe? 

OCEANA.  Yes.  Didn't  I  tell  you?  It  was  made  for  me 
by  one  of  our  King's  sons.  His  name  was  Paukopi  .  .  . 
that  means,  in  our  language,  "Child  of  the  Sea  Foam." 
And  he  was  in  love  with  me. 

ETHEL.     Oh ! 

OCEANA.  He  was  very  sad  and  went  away  by  himself. 
But  he  was  a  man  ...  he  did  not  go  to  pieces.  [She  looks 
at  FREDDY.]  He  went  into  the  forest  and  spent  his  time 
hunting  wild  birds;  and  he  gathered  their  feathers  and 
made  them  into  this  gorgeous  robe  .  .  .  purple  and  gold 
and  green  and  scarlet.  He  brought  it  and  laid  it  at  my 
feet,  and  said  that  it  was  my  bridal-robe,  that  I  must  wear 
it  at  my  feast. 

ETHEL.     Oh,  how  lovely  ! 

FREDDY.     [Rises  and  turns  away  in  despair.]     Oh  ! 

ETHEL.     Tell  me  a  little  about  the  Sunrise  Dance. 

OCEANA.  It  represents  the  worship  of  Nature.  It  por 
trays  an  awakening  from  slumber  .  .  .  you  know  the  soft 
part  of  the  music  at  the  beginning  .  .  . 

ETHEL.     Yes. 

OCEANA.  Then  gradually  I  rise  to  my  feet  and  gaze  to 
wards  the  light.  There  is  the  sun  shining  upon  the  waves 
of  the  sea,  and  upon  the  palm  branches.  All  life  is  awak 
ening  and  singing  for  joy  .  .  .  and  so  the  music  rises  to 
an  ecstasy. 

ETHEL.    And  do  you  dance  other  things? 

OCEANA.     Oh,  yes — lots  of  things. 

ETHEL,    Oh,  Oceana !     I'm  just  wild  to  see  you  I 


ACT  nl  THE  NATURE  WOMAN  35 

OCEANA.  And  I'm  wild  to  dance.  I  must  have  some 
vent  pretty  soon.  You  see,  at  home  I  was  out  of  doors  all 
the  time.  I  hunted  and  fished,  I  swam  and  dived,  I  danced 
on  the  beach.  And  here  .  .  .  why,  I  walk  down  the  street, 
and  I  daren't  even  so  much  as  sing  out  loud.  I  have  to 
remember  that  I'm  a  young  lady,  and  have  an  ermine 
cloak  on  !  Truly,  I  don't  see  how  you  ever  stand  it ! 

ETHEL.     We  were  brought  up  that  way. 

OCEANA.  Yes;  and  that's  why  you're  undeveloped  and 
frail.  But  tell  me,  don't  you  ever  have  an  impulse  to 
play?  That  beautiful  snow  out  there — don't  you  want  to 
tumble  round  in  it  and  pelt  each  other  with  snowballs? 

FREDDY.     We  did  that  when  we  were  children. 

OCEANA.  Yes,  that's  the  way.  But  I,  you  see  ...  I'm  a 
child  still;  and  I  expect  to  be  always. 

ETHEL.     And  are  you  always  happy,  Oceana? 

OCEANA.     Always. 

ETHEL.  You  never  .  .  .  you  never  even  start  to  feel 
sad? 

OCEANA.  Why  yes,  now  and  then.  But  I  don't  per 
mit  such  moods.  You  see,  I  have  the  conviction  that 
there  is  nothing  beautiful  or  right  about  sorrow — never, 
under  any  circumstances. 

ETHEL.  You  mean  you  would  not  mourn,  even  if  some 
one  you  loved  were  to  die? 

OCEANA.  I  mean  that  I  did  not.  [She  pauses.]  Yes, 
exactly  .  .  .  my  father.  He  had  been  my  life's  companion, 
and  they  brought  him  home  drowned;  and  yet  I  did  not 
mourn. 

ETHEL.    Oceana ! 

OCEANA.  I  had  trained  myself  ...  for  just  that.  We 
had  made  ourselves  what  you  might  call  soul-exercises; 
little  ceremonies  to  remind  ourselves  of  things  we  wished 
to  hold  by.  The  Sunrise  Dance  was  one  of  those.  And 
then,  on  the  last  day  of  each  month,  at  sunset,  we  would 


36  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  n 

sit  and  watch  the  shadows  fade,  and  contemplate  death. 
[She  pauses,  gravely.]  We  would  say  to  ourselves  that 
we,  too,  were  shadows  .  .  .  rainbows  in  the  sea-mist;  that 
we  held  our  life  as  a  gift  ...  we  carried  it  in  our  hands, 
ready  to  give  it  up  when  we  heard  the  call. 
A  pause. 

HENRY.  [Opens  door  centre  and  enters.  Sees  OCEANA 
and  halts.']  Oh  ! 

OCEANA.  [Turns  and  sees  him.]  Why!  Here's  a 
man!  [They  gaze  at  each  other,  transfixed.]  Ethel! 
Who  is  he?" 

ETHEL.     Why,  this  is  Henry.     Letitia's  husband. 

OCEANA.  Oh!  Letitia's  husband!  [With  a  sudden, 
frank  gesture,  putting  out  her  hand.]  Henry! 

HENRY.    Oceana ! 

As  their  hands  meet,  they  stand  looking  into  eacH 
other's  faces. 

OCEANA.  [Gripping  his  hand  tightly.]  You  are  strong! 
[Looks  at  his  hand.]  And  you  do  not  smoke,  either !  Let 
me  see  your  eyes. 

HENRY.     [Perplexed.]    My  eyes? 

OCEANA.  Your  eyes.  [Turns  him  toward  the  light; 
studies  his  eyes.]  They  dosed  you  with  quinine!  Ma 
laria,  I  suppose? 

HENRY.    Why  .   .   .  yes.    But  how  can  you  tell? 

OCEANA.  I  can  tell  many  things.  Let  me  see  your 
tongue. 

HENRY.     [Bewildered.]     My  tongue? 

OCEANA.     Your  tongue. 

HENRY.     But  what  for? 

OCEANA.  I  can  tell  more  about  a  man  by  looking  at  his 
tongue  for  a  minute  than  by  listening  to  it  for  a  week. 

HENRY.     But,  Oceana — 

OCEANA.     I  am  in  earnest. 

HENRY.    [Laughs.]    Why  .  .  .  really  .  .  . 


ACT  n]          THE  NATUREWOMAN  37 

OCEANA.     Are  you  afraid? 

HENRY.     Good  heavens,  no! 

OCEANA.  Put  it  out.  [He  puts  his  tongue  out  and  she 
examines  it.~\  So !  A  man  with  a  red  tongue !  And  in 
a  civilized  city ! 

HENRY.     Oughtn't  it  to  be  red? 

OCEANA.  And  he  doesn't  know  what  it  ought  to  be ! 
How  delicious!  [She  steps  back  from  himJ]  And  so 
you  are  Letitia's  husband.  Tell  me,  are  you  happy  with 
her? 

HENRY.  [Startled;  stares  at  her  intently.']  No,  no  ... 
you  ought  not  to  ask  me  that. 

OCEANA.     Why  not? 

HENRY.     [In  a  low  voice.']     Because  you  know. 

OCEANA.  Yes,  that's  true.  [A  pause;  she  changes  the 
subject.']  I  have  heard  my  father  speak  of  you  often. 

HENRY.  He  remembered  me,  did  he?  I  was  only 
twenty  when  he  went  away. 

OCEANA.  He  said  that  he  taught  you  to  play  single 
stick. 

HENRY.     Ah  yes,  to  be  sure! 

OCEANA.     He  taught  me  also. 

HENRY.       YOU  ? 

OCEANA.    It  was  our  favorite  game. 

HENRY.     It's  a  rather  rough  game  for  a  woman. 

OCEANA.     I  love  it.     We'll  have  a  bout. 

HENRY.    I'm  afraid  ...  I  don't  think  I  could. 

OCEANA.     Why  not? 

HENRY.  [Laughs.']  I  should  find  it  a  psychical  impossi 
bility  to  hit  a  woman. 

OCEANA.  You  might  find  it  a  physical  impossibility  in 
this  case.  [With  sudden  excitement. ,]  Why,  my  trunks 
have  come !  We  could  have  a  go  before  dinner.  Couldn't 
we,  Freddy? 

FREDDY.       I    SUppOSe    SO. 


38  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  n 

OCEANA.  Oh,  it's  just  what  I'm  pining  for!  To  get 
my  blood  stirring  again !  And  you,  too  .  .  .  surely  you 
must  be  chafing,  out  of  patience!  [She  stops  abruptly.] 
Oh! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     [Enters  left]    Henry  ! 

HENRY.     Yes? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     When  did  you  get  here? 

HENRY.     Just  a  minute  ago. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     YouVe  met  Anna,  I  see. 

OCEANA.  Yes,  Aunt  Sophronia  .  .  .  we're  getting  along 
famously. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     Letitia's  looking  for  you,  Henry. 

HENRY.     Where  is  she? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     She  went  home  to  find  you. 

HENRY.     Humph !     I  came  here  for  her. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     She  wants  you  at  once. 

HENRY.     All  right.     Good-bye,  Oceana. 

OCEANA.     Until  later. 

HENRY  exit  centre  with  MRS.  MASTERSON. 

OCEANA.  So  that  is  Henry !  Tell  me,  Ethel,  have  they 
any  children? 

ETHEL.    Yes  .   .  .  two. 

OCEANA.     How  long  have  they  been  married? 

ETHEL.     Six  years. 

OCEANA.     Six  years!     And  is  he  really  happy? 

ETHEL.    Why  .    .    .  you  know  Letitia. 

OCEANA.     Yes,  but  I  don't  know  Henry. 

ETHEL.  [Laughs.']  I  guess  he's  so-so.  Like  most 
of  us. 

OCEANA.  [Half  to  herself.]  I'll  find  out  for  myself. 
['Phone  rings;  FREDDY  rises.]  What's  that?  It's  the 
'phone.  [Rises.]  I  hadn't  noticed  it  before !  How  in 
teresting  ! 

ETHEL.    That's  so!     You  never  saw  one? 

FREDDY.     [At  'phone]     Hello!     Yes,  this  is  Mrs.  Mas- 


ACT    II] 


THE  NATUREWOMAN 


39 


terson's.  This  is  her  son.  Can't  I  take  the  message? 
Oh,  from  Miss  Pilkington.  Oh !  Why,  that's  too  bad ! 
Why  no,  of  course  not.  Tell  Miss  Pilkington  we're  as 
sorry  as  can  be !  No,  I'll  attend  to  it.  Good-bye. 
[Turns.]  Miss  Pilkington  can't  come! 

ETHEL.     What? 

FREDDY.     She's  slipped  in  the  snow  and  hurt  her  ankle. 

ETHEL.     Oh,  Freddy ! 

OCEANA.    What  a  shame  ! 

They  stare  at  one  another. 

ETHEL.     Was  that  she  at  the  'phone? 

FREDDY.     No,  her  maid.     She's  laid  up. 

ETHEL.     What  in  the  world  will  we  do? 

FREDDY.     It's  too  late  to  notify  people. 

ETHEL.     How  perfectly  beastly  ! 

FREDDY.     I'll  go  tell  mother. 

OCEANA.     No,  wait ! 

FREDDY.     What  is  it? 

OCEANA.     I've  an  idea. 

FREDDY.     What  ? 

OCEANA.     Why  not  let  me  take  her  place? 

ETHEL.     How  do  you  mean? 

OCEANA.     Let  me  dance  ! 

ETHEL.     Oh ! 

OCEANA.    Why  not?    I'd  love  to  do  it. 

ETHEL     Oceana!     You'd  do  the  Sunrise  Dance? 

OCEANA.  Yes;  and  then  if  they  liked  it,  I  could  do 
some  others. 

ETHEL.  Oh,  Oceana !  How  perfectly  lovely !  But  .  .  . 
but  I  wonder  if  it  would  be  all  right.  I  mean  ...  it 
wouldn't  shock  them? 

OCEANA.     Why  should  it,  my  dear? 

ETHEL.     Is  it  what  they'd  call  proper? 

OCEANA.  Why,  of  course,  Ethel.  How  ridiculous!  It 
isn't  a  sex-dance.  It's  religious. 


40  THE  NATUREWOMAN  [ACT  n 

FREDDY.     And  the  costume? 

OCEANA.     Oh,  the  costume  is  beautiful. 

ETHEL.    Then  I'll  ask  mother. 
Starts  to  go. 

OCEANA.     Wait.     Will  Henry  be  there? 

ETHEL.     Of  course. 

OCEANA.    Are  you  sure? 

ETHEL.    Of  course. 

OCEANA.  [Eagerly.]  Why  ask  your  mother  at  all? 
Why  not  just  go  ahead  and  do  it? 

ETHEL.     Oceana ! 

OCEANA.  Why  not?  She'd  only  worry  meantime.  So 
let's  just  wait,  and  I'll  go  ahead. 

ETHEL.     Oh,  would  you  dare? 

OCEANA.  Why,  of  course !  She  needn't  know  until  al 
most  time.  Is  this  Miss  Pilkington  known  here? 

ETHEL.     No,  she's  never  been  in  Boston  before. 

FREDDY.  Mother  met  her  in  London.  She  promised 
she'd  do  her  famous  Biblical  Dances  for  mother's  pet 
foundling  asylum. 

OCEANA.  Well,  don't  you  see?  Most  of  the  people 
wouldn't  know  till  it  was  all  over !  And  oh,  Ethel,  it 
would  be  such  a  lark!  [ETHEL  and  FREDDY  gaze  at  each 
other  dubiously. 1  Who  was  going  to  play  for  Miss 
Pilkington? 

ETHEL.     I  was. 

OCEANA.  Well,  then,  you  can  play  for  me!  You  see, 
Ethel,  I'm  afraid  to  tell  your  mother  .  .  .  she  mightn't  be 
willing.  She  wants  to  suppress  me,  and  oh,  I  just  can't 
be  suppressed !  I  must  have  something  to  do  or  I'll  jump 
out  of  my  skin,  Ethel.  Truly,  my  dear,  if  this  goes  on 
much  longer,  I'll  go  out  and  climb  the  telegraph  pole  in 
front  of  the  house !  And  if  I  can  only  make  an  impres 
sion  with  my  dancing,  then  I  may  choose  that  for  my 
career.  I've  been  thinking  of  it  seriously  .  .  .  it's  one  way 


ACT  n]  THE  NATTTREWOMAN  41 

that  people  might  let  me  preach  joy  and  health  to  them. 
If  I  can't  do  that,  I'll  go  off  and  turn  into  a  suffragette, 
or  join  the  Anarchists,  or  something  worse ! 

ETHEL.     Freddy,  what  do  you  say? 

FREDDY.     I'll  stand  my  share  of  the  racket. 

OCEANA.  Oh,  come  on !  I'm  just  wild  for  some  kind 
of  mischief !  I  could  dance  like  the  grandmother  of  all 
the  witches !  Come,  let's  practice  some.  Play  for  me, 
Ethel !  Play !  [Pushes  her  toward  the  piano;  raises  her 
hands  in  triumph;  whispers.]  Henry! 

CURTAIN 


THE  NATUREWOMAN          [ACT  ra 


!ACT  III 

Front  part  of  'stage  shows  an  ante-room,  with  folding 
doors  opening  to  rear  part,  which  represents  a  por 
tion  of  the  Masterson  parlor,  curtained  off  to  form 
a  stage  for  the  dance.  Entrances  down  stage  right 
and  left.  Up  stage,  at  the  left,  are  the  curtains, 
which  part  in  the  middle;  they  are  held  by  a  cord 
which  is  fastened  by  the  wall.  OCEANA'S  trunk 
stands  near  entrance,  right.  Also  a  couple  of 
chairs. 

At  rise:  FREDDY  stands  left,  holding  curtain  cord. 
OCEANA  lies  up  centre,  covered  with  the  "Bridal- 
robe,"  asleep.  Music  of  Sunrise  Dance  begins 
softly.  FREDDY  draws  back  curtains,  revealing  part 
of  audience,  left.  He  steals  off.  OCEANA  gradually 
awakens,  raises  her  head,  lifts  herself  to  her  knees, 
stretches  out  her  hands  in  worship  to  the  Sun-god. 
Then  slowly  she  rises,  rapt  in  wonder'.  The  robe 
falls  back,  revealing  a  filmy  costume,  primitive, 
elemental,  naive.  She  begins  to  sway,  and  gradu 
ally  glides  into  an  ecstatic  dance,  which  portrays 
the  joyful  awakening  of  morning. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  [Enters,  left,  in  great  agitation,  stares 
at  OCEANA,  wrings  her  hands,  paces  about,  signals  to  her 
frantically.']  Oh !  Oh ! 

Rushes  left  and  releases  curtains,  which  fall. 

OCEANA.  [Turns  in  consternation.']  Why !  What  .  .  . 
[Sees  MRS.  MASTERSON.]  Aunt  Sophronia  ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.    How  dare  you !     How  dare  you ! 


ACT  m]         THE  NATUREWOMAN  43 

OCEANA.    Why,  what's  the  matter? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     You  ask  me?    Oh,  oh! 

OCEANA.     Aunt  Sophronia,  you  stopped  my  dance! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Hussy !  Shameless  wanton !  You 
have  disgraced  me  before  all  the  world! 

OCEANA.  [Stares  at  her,  slowly  comprehending.']  Oh ! 
I  see !  [Goes  to  her  with  signs  of  distress.]  Oh,  Aunt 
Sophronia,  I'm  so  sorry !  I  didn't  mean  to  displease  you ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     Such  a  humiliation! 

OCEANA.  Aunt  Sophronia,  you  must  believe  me  .  .  . 
I  had  a  reason ! 

MRS.    MASTERSON.      A    what? 

OCEANA.  A  reason  for  doing  it !  I  couldn't  help  it  ... 
believe  me,  believe  me  ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  But  what  .  .  .  what  reason?  What 
do  you  mean  ? 

OCEANA.  I  can't  tell  you,  Aunt  Sophronia.  But  truly 
...  if  you  knew,  you  would  understand.  I  simply  had  to 
do  it. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     [Bewildered.]     Is  the  girl  mad? 

OCEANA.     Yes,  I  believe  that  is  it !     I  am  mad! 

DR.  MASTERSON.  [Opens  door  and  enters  left.'] 
Oceana ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  [Hurries  to  him.]  Quincy !  Don't 
come  in  here!  It's  not  decent!  [Pushes  him  towards 
door;  to  OCEANA.]  Put  something  on  you,  girl ! 

OCEANA.     Of  course.     [Puts  on  robe.] 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  I  can't  comprehend  you !  Have  you 
no  sense  of  shame  whatever? 

OCEANA.     I  had  a  sense  of  shame. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Naked  !  Almost  naked  !  And  in  my 
home! 

ETHEL.     [Enters  left.]     Mother,  what's  the  matter? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Ethel !  You  knew  of  this  outrageous 
plot  .  .  . 


44  THE  NATUREWOMAN         [ACT  m 

OCEANA.  One  moment,  Aunt  Sophronia.  The  blame 
for  this  rests  upon  me  alone.  I  told  Ethel  that  the  dance 
was  all  right. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Ethel,  leave  the  room.  This  is  no 
place  for  you. 

ETHEL.    Mother !    The  people  are  waiting  .   .  . 

MRS.    MASTERSON.      Go    at    OnCC  !       [To    DR.    MASTERSON.] 

Quincy,  go  out  and  make  some  apology  to  our  guests. 
Explain  to  them  that  we  had  no  idea  ...  we  were  im 
posed  upon  .  .  . 

Applause  heard  off  left. 

OCEANA.    Perhaps  if  your  guests  were  consulted  .  .  . 

DR.  MASTERSON.    My  dear  Sophronia  .   .   . 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  [Pushes  him  off.~\  Go!  Quickly! 
[Turns  to  OCEANA.]  And  as  for  you,  Anna  Talbot,  there 
is  no  more  to  be  said.  You  have  overwhelmed  me  with 
shame. 

OCEANA.  Perhaps,  Aunt  Sophronia,  you  would  prefer 
I  should  leave  your  house? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     [Stiffly.]    I  would  make  no  objection. 

OCEANA.    I  will  go  as  soon  as  I  dress. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Very  well.  [Starts  towards  the 
door.~\  I  will  do  what  I  can  to  atone  for  your  wantonness. 

OCEANA.    One  moment,  Aunt  Sophronia. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.      Well? 

OCEANA.  Ethel  tells  me  that  you  had  something  to  say 
to  me  about  grandfather's  will. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.    Oh!    Ethel  told  you,  did  she? 

OCEANA.  Yes  .  .  .  she  wished  you  to  know  that  she  had 
told  me.  Of  course,  feeling  towards  me  as  you  do,  you 
would  hardly  expect  me  to  give  up  any  rights  that  I  may 
have. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  We  will  be  content  with  what  rights 
the  law  allows  us. 


ACT  m]         THE  NATUREWOMAN  4-5 

OCEANA.  What  I  wished  to  say  was  that  I  would  be 
willing  to  give  Ethel  part  of  my  inheritance. 

MRS.    MASTERSON.      Oil  ! 

OCEANA.  I  would  not  give  it  to  Freddy,  for  he  is  a 
man,  and  I  should  be  breaking  the  mainspring  of  his  life. 
But  I  will  give  half  my  money  to  Ethel,  provided  that  you 
will  consent  to  let  her  go  with  me. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Oh!  So  that  is  your  idea!  You 
have  already  weaned  the  child  from  me  .  .  .  you  have 
made  her  a  traitor  to  me;  and  now  you  wish  to  buy  her 
altogether. 

OCEANA.    Aunt  Sophronia! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Your  offer  is  declined.  I  have  no 
more  to  say  to  you. 

She  sweeps  out. 

OCEANA.  [Stands  lost  in  thought;  a  smile  grows  upon 
her  face.']  Poor  Aunt  Sophronia ! 

Begins  to  hum,  and  to  sway  as  in  the  Sunrise 
Dance.  She  completes  the  dance  from  where  she 
was  interrupted,  from  an  impulse  of  inner  delight. 

FREDDY.  [Steals  in  right;  watches  her,  enraptured,  as 
she  stands  with  arms  outstretched  in  ecstasy.  He  rushes 
towards  her  and  flings  himself  at  her  feet,  clasping  her 
hand.']  Oceana ! 

OCEANA.     Freddy ! 

FREDDY.  [Sobbing  incoherently.']  Oceana!  I  can't 
stand  it! 

OCEANA.     Why   .    .    .   what's  the  matter? 

FREDDY.  I  love  you !  I  love  you !  I  can't  live  without 
you !  I  can't  give  you  up  ...  Oceana,  have  mercy  on 
me! 

OCEANA.  [Gravely.]  Freddy !  This  won't  do !  No 
...  let  go  of  me,  please !  You  must  control  yourself. 

FREDDY.  Don't  send  me  awav!  How  can  you  be  so 
cruel  to  me? 


46  THE  NATUREWOMAN         [ACT  ni 

OCEANA.  But,  Freddy,  I  have  told  you  that  I  don't  love 
you.  [She  stands,  thinking.']  Give  me  my  robe.  Now, 
come  sit  down  here,  and  listen  to  me.  I  am  going  away, 
Freddy,  and  you  won't  see  me  any  more.  And  that  is  for 
the  best  .  .  .  for  you  must  get  me  out  of  your  mind.  I 
don't  love  you,  Freddy. 

FREDDY.    And  you  never  would  love  me? 

OCEANA.     Never. 

FREDDY.    But  why  not  .   .   .  why  not? 

OCEANA.    I  can't  tell  you  that. 

FREDDY.     Oh,  you  are  pitiless  to  me ! 

OCEANA.  One  does  not  give  love  out  of  pity.  That 
is  a  cowardly  thing  to  ask.  [She  pauses."]  I  must  be 
frank  with  you,  Freddy.  You  have  got  to  face  the  facts. 
When  I  give  my  love,  it  will  be  to  a  man;  and  you  are 
not  a  man. 

FREDDY.     But  I  am  growing  up ! 

OCEANA.  No;  you  don't  understand  me.  You  should 
have  grown  up  years  ago.  You  have  been  stunted.  [She 
takes  his  hand.]  Look!  See  the  stains! 

FREDDY.    Why  .  .  . 

OCEANA.     Cigarettes !    And  you  want  to  be  a  man  ! 

FREDDY.     Is  that  so  unf orgivable  ? 

OCEANA.     It  is  only  one  thing  of  many,  my  dear  cousin. 

FREDDY.     Oceana,  you  don't  know  what  men  are ! 

OCEANA.  Oh,  don't  I !  My  dear  boy,  there  is  nothing 
about  men  that  I  don't  know.  I  have  read  Krafft-Ebing 
and  Havelock  Ellis  ...  I  know  it  all.  I  know  it  as  a 
physician  knows  it.  I  can  read  a  man's  diseases  in  his 
complexion  ...  I  can  read  his  vices  in  his  eyes.  Don'f 
you  see  ? 

FREDDY.     [Drops  his  eyes.~\    I  see ! 

OCEANA.  Don't  think  that  I  am  despising  you,  dear 
boy.  I  know  the  world  you  have  lived  in. 

FREDDY.     But  what  can  I  do? 


ACT  in]         THE  NATUREWOMAN  47 

OCEANA.  You  can  go  away,  and  make  a  man  of  your 
self.  Go  West,  get  out  into  the  open.  Learn  to  ride  and 
hunt  .  .  .  harden  your  muscles  and  expand  your  chest. 
Until  then  you're  not  fit  to  be  the  father  of  any  woman's 
child ! 

FREDDY.     Drop  college,  you  mean? 

OCEANA.  Be  your  own  college !  The  idea  of  trying  to 
build  a  brain  in  a  body  that's  decaying!  How  could  you 
stand  it?  Don't  you  ever  feel  that  you  are  boiling  over 
.  .  .  that  you  must  have  something  upon  which  you  can 
wreak  yourself?  Don't  you  feel  that  you'd  like  to  tame 
a  horse,  or  to  sail  a  boat  in  a  storm?  Don't  you  ever 
read  about  adventures? 

FREDDY.     Yes,  I  read  about  them. 

OCEANA.  And  don't  you  ever  feel  that  you  must  ex 
perience  them?  That  you  must  face  some  kind  of  dan 
ger  ...  do  something  that  you  can  look  back  on  with 
pride?  Why,  see  .  .  .  six  years  ago  there  came  to  our 
island  three  war-canoes  full  of  savages  .  .  .  cannibals 
they  were.  If  father  and  I  hadn't  been  there,  they'd  have 
wiped  our  people  out.  And  do  you  think  I'd  give  up  the 
memory  of  that  struggle? 

FREDDY.     What  happened? 

OCEANA.     Fortunately  they  came  in  the  daytime,  so  we 
soon  drove  them  back  to  their  boats.    See  .    .   .  I'll  show 
you.    [She  goes  to  trunk.~\    Here's  one  of  them. 
She  lifts  up  a  human  skull. 

FREDDY.     Good  Lord ! 

OCEANA.  Notice  that  crack.  That  was  done  with  a 
spear  ...  by  my  prince,  the  one  who  made  me  this  robe, 
you  know.  He  cleaned  the  skull  out  for  me. 

FREDDY.     Rather  a  ghastly  sort  of  souvenir. 

OCEANA.  Oh,  I  don't  mind  that.  Father  and  I  found 
it  useful  .  .  a  sort  of  memento  mori. 


48  THE  NATUREWOMAN          [ACT  in 

FREDDY.  [Looking  into  trunk. ]  And  what  are  those 
things  ? 

OCEANA.  They  are  some  of  my  arrows.  And  these 
are  what  we  used  for  bowls  .  .  .  turtle-shells,  you  see. 

FREDDY.     [Pointing.']     But  those? 

OCEANA.  Oh,  my  single-sticks.  [Lifts  them.}  That's 
the  game  Henry  and  I  were  talking  about.  You  ought 
to  get  him  to  teach  it  to  you. 

FREDDY.     What's  it  like? 

OCEANA.  I'll  show  you.  [She  takes  from  the  trunk  two 
leather  helmets  and  gloves.]  Here  you  are!  It's  an  old 
English  game  .  .  .  didn't  you  ever  read  "Robin  Hood"  ? 

FREDDY.  Oh,  it's  that?  Why,  they  used  to  crack  each 
other's  heads ! 

OCEANA.  The  object  was  to  draw  first  blood.  But  we 
used  to  wear  these  helmets.  You  see  how  we've  dented 
them  up?  And  these  old  cudgels  .  .  .  how  they  remind 
me  of  father! 

FREDDY.     Humph!     They're  heavy. 

OCEANA.  You  take  the  stick  this  way;  it's  a  kind  of 
fencing.  [She  gives  him  a  stick  and  illustrates  the  play.] 
No,  so! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  [Enters.']  What's  this?  Is  this  the 
way  you  get  ready  to  leave? 

OCEANA.  [Imploring.']  Oh,  Aunt  Sophronia,  I  beg  your 
pardon  !  I  got  so  interested  .  .  . 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     Is  there  no  limit  to  your  indiscretion? 

DR.  MASTERSON.  [Enters  hurriedly.']  Sophronia,  I  beg 
of  you  .  .  . 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  I  will  hear  no  more  of  this !  I  have 
spoken,  once  for  all  ... 

DR.  MASTERSON.    But,  my  dear  .  .  . 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     No  more  ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.  But,  Sophronia,  the  people  don't  un 
derstand  why  .  .  . 


ACT  HI]         THE  NATUREWOiMAN  49 

MRS.    MASTERSON.      It    WES    OUtragCOUS  ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.  I  know.  But  since  it  was  begun  .  .  . 
it's  so  difficult  to  explain  .  .  . 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     No  more  of  this  !    I  won't  hear  it ! 

HENRY.  [Enters;  stares  about.]  Mrs.  Masterson,  what 
have  you  done  here? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
concern  yourself  with  it. 

HENRY.     But  I  wish  to  know. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     What  do  you  wish  to  know? 

HENRY.     Did  you  stop  Oceana's  dance? 

MRS.   MASTERSON.      I  did. 

HENRY.     And  why? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.    Because  I  saw  fit  to. 

HENRY.    But  your  guests  .   .   . 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     I  will  attend  to  my  guests. 

HENRY.     But  what  is  Oceana  going  to  do? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     She  is  going  to  leave  our  house. 

HENRY.  This  is  a  shame.  Most  of  the  people  enjoyed 
the  dance.  They  would  like  to  see  more  .  .  . 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Henry,  you  will  permit  me  to  decide 
about  what  goes  on  in  my  home. 

HENRY.  You  may  decide  for  yourself.  But  if  Oceana 
leaves  to-night,  I  will  leave  also  .  .  .  and  I  will  never 
return. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.    Very  well,  sir;  as  you  please. 

OCEANA.  Henry,  let  me  have  a  say.  I  am  obliged  to 
you,  but  I  don't  want  to  stay.  It's  absurd  for  me  to  be  here 
...  I  don't  belong  here.  I've  lived  all  my  life  under  the 
open  sky;  I've  been  free.  I've  swum  several  miles  every 
day  and  run  several  more;  I've  hunted  and  fished  and 
danced  and  played;  and  here  they  dress  me  up  in  long 
skirts  and  sit  me  in  a  corner  and  tell  me  I'm  a  lady!  I 
can  stand  it  just  so  long  .  .  .  I've  stood  it  twenty-four 
hours,  and  I  feel  like  a  wild  animal  in  a  cage.  If  I  don't 


50  THE  NATUREWOMAN          [ACT  m 

find  something  to  do  ...  something  real  .  .  .  something 
that  is  thrilling  .  .  .  truly,  I'll  murder  some  one.  [She 
paces  the  room;  DR.  and  MRS.  MASTERSON  shrink  away 
from  her.~\  Yes,  I  mean  it!  [With  increasing  vehe 
mence.]  Picture  me  at  home.  When  I  was  hungry,  I 
went  out  for  game;  and  unless  I  got  the  game,  I  stayed 
hungry.  Or  I  went  fishing,  and  I  had  to  get  my  canoe 
through  the  surf.  I  had  the  zest  of  danger  ...  I  had 
real  struggle.  But  here  I  have  nothing.  They  bring  me 
my  food  on  silver  platters;  they  get  up  and  give  me  their 
seats,  they  even  push  the  doors  open  in  front  of  me ! 
And  so  I'm  panting  for  something  to  do  . 
for  some  opposition,  some  competition,  some  con 
flict.  I'm  spoiling  for  a  fight!  You,  Henry,  don't  you 
know  what  I  mean?  A  fight!  [With  a  sharp,  swift  ges 
ture.']  I  want  to  meet  some  wild  animal  again !  Is  there 
a  wild  animal  in  you?  [They  stare  at  each  other;  sud 
denly  she  springs  and  takes  the  other  single-stick  from 
FREDDY.]  Here!  You  know  this  game!  My  father 
taught  you !  [She  holds  out  one  to  him.~\  Come  on ! 

HENRY.     [Bewildered.]    Oceana !    This  is  not  the  place. 

OCEANA.    It's  the  place  for  me !    Take  it !    [She  forces 
it  on  him]     Now !     Forget  that  I'm  a  woman  !     Ready  ! 

HENRY.    Oceana !    No ! 

OCEANA.    Are  you  afraid  of  your  mother-in-law? 

HENRY.    Good  heavens! 

OCEANA.    If  you're  not,  you're  the  only  man  in  the 
family  that  isn't.     [She  drops  her  robe]     Now ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     This  is  disgraceful ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.    Oceana,  I  beg  of  you  .  .  . 

OCEANA.     Defend   yourself !      [She   makes  a  feint   at 

HENRY'S  head,  causing  him  to  raise  his  stick]     Lay  on! 

She    attacks    him    briskly.      He    defends    himself. 

There  is  a  swift  rattle  of  the  sticks  and  a  vivid 

conflict. 


ACT  m]         THE  NATUREWOMAN  51 

HENRY.     [Laughing.]     Oceana,  for  God's  sake,  stop! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     Oh,  stop  them! 

DR.  MASTERSON.     Are  you  mad? 

FREDDY.     Oceana ! 

OCEANA.  [Wild  ivith  the  excitement  of  the  struggle.] 
Lay  on  !  Ha,  ha  !  Well  played  !  Guard  !  Once  again  !  Ah, 
this  is  what  I  like!  This  is  what  I've  been  looking  for! 

They  leap  here  and  there;  the  others  dodge  out  of 
the  way,  protesting;  the  conflict  grows  more  and 
more  strenuous. 

LETITIA.  [Enters  left;  screams  in  terror.']  Henry ! 
[They  stop;  a  long  pause.]  Henry!  What  does  this 
mean? 

HENRY.    My  dear  .   .  . 

Stops  for  lack  of  breath. 

OCEANA.    Freddy,  my  robe. 

Wraps  herself  and  sits  in  chair,  smiling. 

LETITIA.     What  does  this  mean? 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  Of  all  the  shameless  and  insane  pro 
cedures  ! 

LETITIA.     Are  you  mad,  Henry? 

OCEANA.  No,  no,  Letitia.  We  know  just  what  we're 
about.  You  see,  your  husband  and  I  are  considering 
whether  or  not  we  shall  fall  in  love  with  each  other. 

LETITIA.     [Wildly.]     Oh! 

MRS.   MASTERSON.       MonstrOUS  ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.     Oceana ! 

LETITIA.     How  dare  you? 

OCEANA.  He's  interested,  you  know.  I've  got  hold  of 
him. 

LETITIA.  [Furiously.]  Henry,  you  stand  there  and  per 
mit  her  to  insult  me  .  .  . 

HENRY.    My  dear,  believe  me  .   .   . 

OCEANA.  [S  liar  ply.]  Stop,  Henry !  [A  pause.]  Look 
at  me ! 


52  THE  NATUREWOMAN          [ACT  m 

HENRY.      Well  ? 

OCEANA.  Don't  tell  her  a  lie.  A  lie  is  the  thing  I  never 
pardon. 

HENRY.    Why  .   .   .  why  .   .   . 
Falls  silent. 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     Henry! 

FREDDY.     Gee  whiz ! 

LETITIA.  Henry,  I  demand  that  you  come  home  with 
me  instantly. 

OCEANA.    Don't  go. 

LETITIA.  [Almost  speechless.']  If  you  stay  here,  you 
stay  alone ! 

OCEANA.  [Rises,  casts  aside  her  robe,  stretches  wide 
her  arms.']  Letitia !  Look  at  me !  Am  I  the  sort  of 
woman  that  you  can  safely  leave  your  husband  alone 
with? 

LETITIA.  [Stares  at  her  terrified,  then  bursts  into  tears 
and  flings  herself  into  HENRY'S  arms.']  Henry ! 

OCEANA.    Ah,  yes  !     That  is  safer  ! 

HENRY.     [Supports  LETITIA.]     My  dear!     My  dear! 

LETITIA.     Come  home  with  me! 

OCEANA.  God,  man,  how  I  pity  you!  Bound  in  chains 
to  a  woman  like  that !  And  with  all  the  world  conspiring 
to  hold  you  fast!  How  can  you  bear  it?  Do  you  ex 
pect  to  bear  it  forever?  What  will  become  of  your  soul? 
Oh,  I  pity  you  !  I  pity  you ! 

LETITIA.  [Hysterically.']  Henry,  take  me  home !  Take 
me  home  at  once ! 

HENRY.     Yes,  my  dear,  yes ! 

OCEANA.  What  is  the  spell  they've  laid  upon  you?  You 
make  me  think  of  Gulliver  ...  a  giant  stretched  out  upon 
the  ground,  impotent,  bound  fast  with  a  million  tiny 
threads  !  Wake  up,  man  .  .  .  wake  up  !  You've  only  one 
life  to  live.  You  act  as  if  you  had  a  thousand. 

LETITIA.     Mother ! 


ACT  in]         THE  NATUREWOMAN  53 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     How  long  is  this  to  continue? 

LETITIA.     Henry,  won't  you  stop  listening  to  her? 

OCEANA.  He's  not  listening  to  me,  Letitia.  He's  lis 
tening  to  the  voice  of  the  universe,  calling  to  him.  The 
voice  of  unborn  generations,  clamoring,  agonizing !  What 
do  you  suppose  it  means,  man  .  .  .  this  storm  that  has 
shaken  us?  It  is  Nature's  trumpet-call  .  .  .  it  is  the  shout 
of  discovery  of  the  powers  within  us!  For  ages  upon 
ages  life  has  been  preparing  it  ...  and  now  suddenly  we 
meet  .  .  .  the  barriers  are  shattered  and  flung  down,  the 
tides  of  being  sweep  us  together ! 

MRS.   MASTERSON.     Oh !     This  is  outrageous ! 

DR.  MASTERSON.     Oceana,  Henry  is  married ! 

OCEANA.  Married  !  Married  !  That  is  the  sorcery  with 
which  you  bind  him !  No  longer  a  man  at  all,  but  some 
aborted  thing  ...  a  relic !  an  eunuch  !  They  mumble  their 
incantations  over  you  ...  the  spell  is  done,  and  you  sink 
back,  cowed  and  whimpering!  You  are  a  machine,  a  do 
mestic  utensil !  Never  again  are  you  to  love  and  to  dare 
and  to  create !  No,  there  are  other  things  in  life  for  you 
.  .  .  bread  and  butter,  cooks  and  dinner  parties,  bil 
liards  and  bridge-whist  .  .  .  that  is  your  portion !  A 
married  man ! 

LETITIA.     [Terrified.]    Henry !    For  God's  sake ! 

He  no  longer  returns  her  embraces,  but  stares  at 
OCEANA,  fascinated. 

OCEANA.  Don't  you  see,  man?  It's  a  dream!  A  night 
mare!  Rouse  yourself,  lift  your  head  .  .  .  and  it's  gone! 
Life  is  calling!  Come  away! 

LETITIA.     [Frantically.]     Mother!     Mother! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     Quincy,  if  you  can't  stop  this  out 
rage,  I  will !     Call  the  servants. 
She  starts  toward  OCEANA. 

OCEANA.     Call  the  police !    Call  your  guests !    Anything 


54  THE  NATUREWOMAN          [ACT  m 

.  .  .  bring  the  world  down  on  him.  Terrify  him  with 
conventions,  beat  him  into  subjection  again ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.     Wanton ! 

OCEANA.  Wanton  !  Oh,  how  well  you  understand  me  ! 
I,  with  my  hunger  for  righteousness  ...  I,  who  have  dis 
ciplined  myself  as  an  anchorite,  who  have  served  as  a 
priestess  of  life!  And  you,  with  your  formulas  and  your 
superstitions  .  .  .  you  pass  judgment  upon  me!  [With 
terrific  energy.]  See !  This  man  and  I,  we  are  the  gate 
way  to  the  future !  And  you  seek  to  bar  it !  By  what  right 
do  you  stand  in  the  path  of  posterity  .  .  .  you  tormentors 
of  the  ideal,  you  assassins  of  human  hope ! 

MRS.  MASTERSON.  \_Almost  striking  her.]  Oh!  Oh! 
And  my  children  have  to  listen  to  this !  [She  whirls 
about.]  Ethel !  Freddy  !  Go  out  of  the  room ! 

ETHEL.    /  am  going  with  Oceana. 

MRS.    MASTERSON.       What? 

ETHEL.     Some  day   ...   if  not  now.     She's  perfectly 
right.     Letitia  has  no  business  to  keep  him.     She  never 
would  have  got  him  if  she  hadn't  played  a  part. 
MRS.  MASTERSON.    Ethel  Masterson  ! 
LETITJA.     Little  vixen! 

FREDDY.     [Rushes    to    OCEANA    and   seizes   her   hand.] 
Oceana !    Let  me  go  with  you,  too ! 
DR.  MASTERSON.     What  next? 

OCEANA.  No,  Freddy  .  .  .no!  \Slie  withdraws  her 
hand  and  holds  it  out  to  HENRY.]  Henry  !  Come ! 

A  tense  pause ;  all  stare  at  HENRY.  He  never  takes 
his  eyes  from  OCEANA.  Slowly,  like  one  hypnotized, 
he  draws  away  from  his  wife's  embrace,  and  moves 
towards  OCEANA.  He  seises  her  hand.  All  stand 
transfixed.  Silence. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  iv]          THE  NATUREWOMAN  55 


ACT   IV 

The  scene  shows  the  living-room  of  a  bungalow.  Large 
stone  fireplace  centre;  windows  and  window  seats 
on  each  side;  French  windows  leading  to  piazza 
right;  piano  between  them;  door  left  to  another 
room;  large  mirror  beside  it.  Centre  table,  rustic 
chairs,  deer-heads  and  skins,  Indian  blankets,  etc. 

At  rise:     The  stage  is  empty. 

OCEANA.     [Laughs  off.']     Oh,  say,  but  that  was  an  ad 
venture  ! 

Enters;  glowing  and  exultant  from  a  long  moun 
tain  walk.    She  wears  a  "Rosalind"  costume,  brown, 
with  soft  boots,  gauntlet  gloves  and  light  fur  about 
the  neck;  carries  a  pair  of  snow-shoes,  which  she 
has  taken  off,  and  from  which  she  knocks  the  snow. 
HENRY.     [Follows.]     You  like  the  mountains! 
OCEANA.     Oh,  my  dear!     They  are  marvellous!     I've 
never  imagined  anything  like  it  .   .   .  to  be  able  to  see  so 
much  of  the  world  at  once.     It's  the  way  you  think  of 
heaven. 

HENRY.     You  don't  mind  the  cold? 
OCEANA.     I  find  I  prefer  it.     I  think  I  shall  stay  here 
forever.    It  tunes  you  up  so !     It  makes  you  quite  drunk ! 
[Looks  at  herself  in  the  mirror.]     I  look  cute  in  this, 
don't  I? 

HENRY.     You  look  like  a  fairy-story ! 
OCEANA.     I  ought  to  have  had  sense  enough  to  think 
of  a  theatrical  costumer  in  the  beginning.     [Stretches  her 
arms.]     Oh,  I  feel  so  wonderful !     Ha,  ha,  ha !     I  don't 


56  THE  NATUREWOMAN          [ACT  iv 

know  whether  it's  the  mountain  air  ...  or  whether  it's 
because  I'm  in  love ! 

HENRY.     [Seizes  her  hand.']    Sweetheart ! 

OCEANA.  [Stares  at  him.']  How  wonderful  it  is !  Be 
yond  all  believing !  I'm  stunned  by  it  .  .  .  afraid  of  it. 
Tell  me,  Hal,  were  you  ever  drunk? 

HENRY.     [Laughs.]     Once  or  twice. 

OCEANA.  [Seriously."]  I  never  was.  But  I've  watched 
my  people  sometimes  and  tried  to  understand  it.  And 
it's  just  that.  Nature  has  made  us  drunk! 

HENRY.     And  that  is  what  frightens  you? 

OCEANA.  She  has  her  purposes,  Hal;  and  I  don't  want 
to  be  her  blind  victim.  But  then,  I  look  at  you  again,  and 
wonder  leaps  up  in  me  .  .  .  love,  such  as  I  never  con 
ceived  of  before ;  power  .  .  .  vision  without  end.  I  seem 
to  be  a  hundred  times  myself!  It  is  as  if  barriers  were 
broken  down  within  me  ...  I  see  into  new  vistas  of  life. 
I  understand  ...  I  exult !  Oh,  Hal,  I  shall  never  be  the 
same  again ! 

HENRY.  Nor  I;  I  look  back  at  myself  as  I  was  a  week 
ago,  and  I  can't  believe  it ! 

OCEANA.  With  me  it  is  like  a  great  fountain  inside. 
It  surges  up,  and  I  cannot  be  still !  I  want  to  laugh  .  .  . 
to  sing !  I  have  to  dance  it  out  of  me !  Do  you  know 
Anitra's  Dance,  Hal? 

HENRY.     Yes,  of  course. 

OCEANA.  [Begins  to  sing  the  music  to  herself  and  play 
fully  to  dance.  The  enthusiasm  of  it  takes  hold  of  her, 
and  she  dances  more  quickly.'}  Play  it,  Hal!  Play! 
[HENRY  sits  at  piano  and  plays  Anitra's  Dance;  she  dances 
tumultuously,  ending  in  a  whirlwind  of  excitement. ~\  Oh  ! 
As  HENRY  rises,  she  flies  to  him  and  he  clasps  her 
passionately. 

HENRY.     Sweetheart ! 

OCEANA.     [Panting.']    Oh,  Hal,  I'm  so  happy  !  so  happy  ! 


ACT  iv  ]         THE  NATUREWOMAN  57 

[She  sobs  upon  his  shoulder,  then  looks  at  him  through 
her  tears.]  Oh,  if  I  only  dared  let  myself  go! 

HENRY.     Why  not,  dearest? 

OCEANA.  It  sweeps  me  off  my  feet!  And  I  have  to 
hold  myself  in. 

HENRY.     Why?     Don't  I  love  you? 

OCEANA.  Yes,  I  know.  But  I'm  terrified  at  myself;  I'm 
losing  my  self-control.  And  I  promised  father. 

HENRY.     What? 

OCEANA.  That  I  would  never  do  it.  "Never  feel  an 
emotion,"  he  would  say,  "that  you  could  not  stop  feeling 
if  you  wished  to." 

HENRY.  But,  sweetheart  .  .  .  why  so  much  distrust? 
Why  should  we  wait,  when  everything  in  us  cries  out 
against  it? 

OCEANA.     Don't  say  that  to  me  now,  Hal ! 

HENRY.     But  why  not? 

OCEANA.  This  is  not  the  time  for  such  a  thought.  You 
know  it ! 

HENRY.    Dearest  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  [Passionately.]  Ah,  don't  put  it  all  on  me! 
Don't  make  it  too  hard  for  me ! 

HENRY.    But  if  I  only  knew  .   .   . 

OCEANA.  You  will  know  before  long.  Ah,  Hal,  see 
how  I'm  situated.  I've  broken  all  the  laws.  I've  no  prec 
edent  to  help  me  ...  I  have  to  work  it  all  out  for  myself. 
I  shall  have  to  bear  the  scorn  of  the  world;  and  oh,  think 
if  I  had  to  bear  the  scorn  of  my  own  conscience !  Don't 
you  see? 

HENRY.    Yes,  I  see.    But  .   .   . 

OCEANA.  I  have  chosen  a  certain  course.  I  have  forced 
myself  to  be  calm,  to  think  it  out  in  the  cold  light  of  rea 
son,  to  decide  what  is  right  for  me  to  do.  And  now  I 
must  keep  to  my  resolution.  You  would  not  want  our 
love  to  lead  me  into  shame! 


58  THE  NATUREWOMAN          [ACT  iv 

HENRY.      No  ! 

OCEANA.    Do  you  read  Nietzsche,  Henry? 

HENRY.     He  is  a  mere  name  to  me. 

OCEANA.  I  will  give  you  some  lines  of  Nietzsche's. 
"Canst  thou  give  thyself  thy  good  and  thine  evil,  and  hang 
thy  will  above  thee  as  thy  law  ?  Canst  thou  be  thine  own 
judge,  and  avenger  of  thy  law?  Fearful  is  it  to  be  alone 
with  the  judge  and  the  avenger  of  thy  law.  So  is  a  stone 
flung  out  into  empty  space  and  into  the  icy  breath  of 
isolation/' 

HENRY.  That's  all  right  .  .  .  but  if  you  expect  Letitia 
to  face  this  problem  in  any  such  way,  you  will  be  sadly 
disappointed. 

OCEANA.  That's  none  of  my  affair.  All  I  have  to  do 
is  to  give  her  a  chance.  If  she  cannot  face  the  facts,  she 
has  passed  sentence  upon  herself. 

HENRY.  [Laughs.]  All  right,  my  dear.  It  will  cer 
tainly  be  a  scene  to  watch ! 

OCEANA.     You  think  she  will  come? 

HENRY.     Oh,  she'll  certainly  come. 

OCEANA.     And  she  won't  bring  her  mother  ? 

HENRY.     I  can't  tell  about  that. 

OCEANA.  If  she  does,  we'll  simply  have  to  send  her 
down  to  the  village  ...  I  won't  talk  in  Aunt  Sophronia's 
presence. 

HENRY.  I  was  perfectly  explicit  on  that  point.  [Takes 
paper  from  table.'}  Here's  the  telegram:  "Come  to  the 
bungalow  immediately,  upon  a  matter  of  extreme 
urgency.  Do  not  bring  your  mother." 

OCEANA.     Certainly  that  is  clear  enough. 

HENRY.  And  bewildering  enough.  But  I  suppose  they 
are  prepared  for  anything  by  now. 

OCEANA.  It's  past  the  time.  [Looking  from  window.'] 
We  should  be  able  to  see  a  sleigh. 

HENRY.     No,  the  road  turns  behind  that  hillock  there. 


ACT  iv]         THE  NATUREWOMAN  59 

OCEAN  A.     But  look! 

HENRY.    What? 

OCEANA.    There's  some  one  coming  afoot 

HENRY.     Where? 

OCEANA.  Round  that  side!  By  the  path!  Why,  it's 
Ethel ! 

HENRY.     Good  Lord!     Ethel! 

OCEANA.     She's  come  up  from  the  village  afoot. 

HENRY.     Well,  of  all  the  apparitions! 

OCEANA.  Run  help  her,  Henry.  She's  running. 
\Opcns  window  and  calls.']  Ethel !  [HENRY  exit  hur 
riedly.']  Why,  the  poor,  dear  child !  I  wonder  if  she  came 
in  Letitia's  stead !  But  then  .  .  .  why  wouldn't  she  get  a 
sleigh?  [Calls.']  Ethel!  What's  the  matter? 

HENRY.     [Off.]     She  says  Letitia  is  coming! 

OCEANA.     Oh ! 

HENRY.     She's  just  behind! 

OCEANA.    But,  Ethel,  what  are  you  doing  here? 

ETHEL.     [Off,  breathless.']    Wait! 

OCEANA.  Wrhy,  you  poor  child,  you're  exhausted.  What 
in  the  world  .  .  . 

ETHEL.    Wait. 

Enters,  breathless,  half  carried  by  HENRY. 

OCEANA.  [Pounces  upon  her.}  Ethel!  Of  all  the  sur 
prises!  You  dear  thing!  [Embraces  her,  shakes  snow 
from  her.]  What  in  the  world  has  happened? 

ETHEL.     Oceana,  I  ran  away! 

OCEANA.     You  ran  away? 

ETHEL.  To  you !  I  couldn't  stand  it !  I  must  be  with 
you,  Oceana — no  matter  how  wicked  it  is,  I  must  be  with 
you! 

OCEANA.     [Breathlessly]     Ethel ! 

ETHEL.  Yes,  I'm  desperate  .  .  .  I'll  die  if  I  have  to 
stay  at  home. 

OCEANA.     My  dear,  dear  girl !     [Clasps  her] 


60  THE  NATUREWOMAN         [ACT  iv 

ETHEL.     You  won't  send  me  back? 

OCEANA.     Never ! 

ETHEL.     [Wildly.']     But,  Oceana,  Letitia  is  coming! 

OCEANA.    Yes  ? 

ETHEL.  I  took  a  train  from  Boston.  And  when  I  saw 
her  come  aboard,  imagine  how  I  felt !  I  hid  .  .  .  she 
didn't  see  me.  And  I  got  off  the  train  first  and  dodged  out 
of  sight.  I  ran  all  the  way.  I  suppose  she  stopped  to  get 
a  sleigh. 

HENRY.  It's  all  right,  Ethel  ...  we  knew  she  was 
coming. 

ETHEL.     You  knew  it  ? 

OCEANA.  Yes,  Henry  sent  for  her.  You  see,  Letitia 
and  I  have  to  talk  things  out. 

ETHEL.    Well,  of  all  the  ... 
Stops,  dazed. 

OCEANA.  [Laughs.']  That's  all  right,  dear.  We  know 
what  we're  doing.  But  it  was  good  of  you  to  try  to 
save  us ! 

HENRY.     Listen ! 

OCEANA.    Ah ! 

HENRY.     The  sleigh-bells ! 

OCEANA.     She's  here ! 

ETHEL.     [Clasping  her.]    Oceana ! 

OCEANA.     What  is  it,  dear? 

ETHEL.     Don't  let  her  take  me  back  home? 

OCEANA.  But  how  can  she  take  you,  dear,  if  you 
won't  go? 

ETHEL.     She  might  persuade  you. 

OCEANA.  Never  fear,  Ethel  .  .  .  we'll  stand  by  you, 
won't  we,  Hal? 

HENRY.    Yes. 

ETHEL.     She'll  threaten  to  make  me  go. 

OCEANA.  Her  mind  will  be  taken  up  with  other  things, 
Ethel. 


ACT  iv  ]         THE  NATUREWOMAN  61 

ETHEL.  But  mother  will  come!  And  she'll  command 
me  to  return.  I'm  not  of  age,  you  know. 

OCEANA.  But  then, if  you  won't  obey?  Will  she  send 
for  the  police? 

ETHEL.    No  ...  hardly  that. 

OCEANA.  All  right,  then,  dear.  1*11  save  you  .  .  .  trust 
me.  I  mean  to  give  you  a  chance  for  life. 

ETHEL.  And,  oh,  Oceana  .  .  .  what  do  you  think? 
Freddy's  run  away,  too ! 

OCEANA.     What? 

HENRY.     Where  to? 

ETHEL.     He's  gone  out  West! 

OCEANA.     You  don't  mean  it! 

HENRY.     What  for? 

ETHEL.  He  says  he's  going  to  be  a  cowboy.  He's  going 
to  make  a  man  of  himself.  He  left  a  letter  to  father. 

OCEANA.     Why,  the  dear  boy ! 

ETHEL.  [Mysteriously.]  Oceana,  do  you  know  what 
was  the  matter? 

OCEANA.    No  .   .  .  what? 

ETHEL.     I  think  I  know.    He  was  in  love  with  you ! 

OCEANA.     I  shouldn't  wonder,  my  dear.     [Laughs.]     But 
don't  tell  Henry  .   .   .  he'll  be  jealous ! 
Sound  of  sleigh-bells  louder. 

ETHEL.     Here  she  is! 

OCEANA.  You  go  into  the  next  room  now.  It  wouldn't 
be  considered  proper  for  you  to  hear  what  we're  going 
to  say. 

ETHEL.    Of  all  the  adventures! 
Exit. 

OCEANA.     [Smiles  at  Henry.]    Now  then  ! 

HENRY.     You  wanted  it,  my  dear! 

They    turn,   gazing    right.      The    sleigh-bells   have 
come  nearer,  then  stopped.     Some  one  is  heard  to 


62  THE  NATUREWOMAN         [ACT  iv 

step  upon  the  piazza  and  stamp  the  snow  from  the 
feet. 

LETITIA.  [Enters  right,  stares  at  OCEANA  and  screams.] 
Oceana ! 

OCEANA.    Letitia  .  .  . 

LETITIA.  [Gasps  for  breath.]  Henry  !  How  dared  you 
bring  me  here  to  meet  that  woman  ? 

OCEANA.    Letitia  ... 

LETITIA.  Don't  speak  to  me !  Don't  you  dare  to  speak 
to  me !  [She  sinks  down  by  table  and  bursts  into  tears.] 
Oh,  how  horrible!  How  horrible!  As  if  I  had  not  hu 
miliations  enough  already ! 

HENRY.     [Taking  step  toward  her.]     Letitia  .    .    . 

OCEANA.     [With  a  swift  gesture.]     Wait! 

LETITIA.  Oh,  who  would  have  thought  it  possible !  To 
bring  me  'way  up  here  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  You  might  as  well  understand  at  the  outset 
.  .  .  the  thing  cannot  be  done  that  way. 

LETITIA.     [With  concentrated  hatred.]     You  dare! 

OCEANA.    We  have  sent  for  you  .   .   . 

LETITIA.     We  have  sent  for  you ! 

OCEANA.  Because  we  wished  to  talk  things  out  with 
you  in  a  sensible  way.  And  you'll  have  to  make  up  your 
mind  to  control  yourself. 

LETITIA.  [Sobbing.]  Henry,  you  permit  this  shameful 
humiliation ! 

OCEANA.  Henry  has  nothing  to  do  with  this  affair, 
Letitia.  It  is  I  who  have  to  talk  to  you. 

LETITIA.  [Bursts  into  hysterical  weeping  again.]  Oh, 
that  I  should  have  lived  to  see  this ! 

OCEANA.  You  will  find  out  before  you  get  through 
that  I  mean  to  deal  with  you  fairly.  But  you  cannot  ac 
complish  anything  by  hysterics. 

LETITIA.     Oh,  oh,  oh  ! 


ACT  iv]         THE  NATUREWOMAN  63 

OCEANA.  And  you  had  best  believe  me;  you  injure  your 
case  by  refusing  to  act  rationally. 

I.ETITIA.  [Looks  up,  frightened.]  What  do  you  want 
with  me? 

OCEANA.  [Quietly.']  In  the  first  place,  Letitia,  I  want 
to  convey  to  you  the  information  that  your  husband's  re 
lationship  and  mine  has  so  far  been  what  you  would  call 
innocent. 

LETITIA.     What? 

OCEANA.  I  was  a  virgin  when  I  came  to  Boston,  and 
I  am  a  virgin  still. 

LETITIA.     And  you  expect  me  to  believe  that? 

OCEANA.  My  dear,  I  don't  care  in  the  least  whether  you 
believe  it  or  not. 

LETITIA.    [Faintly.']    But  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  What  reason  would  I  have  to  fear  you?  He 
is  mine,  if  I  want  him. 

LETITIA.  [Dazed.]  Then  what  .  .  .  why  are  you  here ? 
Why  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  I  came  here  because  I  wished  to  get  ac 
quainted  with  him.  And  what  chance  have  a  man  and 
woman  to  get  acquainted  with  each  other  in  the  conven 
tional  world? 

LETITIA.    [Stares  at  her;  then,  faintly. ~\    But  what  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  I  wished  to  try  him  out  ...  in  body,  mind 
and  soul.  I  wished  to  know  if  he  was  the  man  for  me. 

LETITIA.  [Rushes  to  HENRY.]  Oh !  Have  you  no  de 
cency  left?  Have  you  no  mercy  on  me?  What  has  come 
over  you? 

HENRY.    Letitia  .   .   . 

OCEANA.    Let  me  attend  to  this,  Hal. 

LETITIA.     Hal ! 

OCEANA.  That  a  woman  could  be  married  to  a  man 
for  six  years  and  continue  to  call  him  Henry,  speaks  vol 
umes  for  the  romance  of  their  relationship! 


64.  THE  NATUREWOMAN          [ACT  iv 

LETITIA.     \To  HENRY.]     Where's  your  sense  of  shame? 

OCEANA.  You  are  taking  the  wrong  line,  Letitia.  No 
such  consideration  has  a  moment's  weight  with  us. 

LETITIA.  [Catches  her  breath.']  Since  it  seems  that  I 
am  here  at  your  mercy,  I  ask  to  know  your  pleasure? 

OCEANA.  The  reason  that  we  have  sent  for  you  is  that 
I  might  assure  myself  upon  two  points  .  .  .  first,  as  to 
whether  your  husband  still  loves  you,  and  second,  as  to 
whether  you  still  love  him. 

LETITIA.     You  doubt  that  I  love  him? 

OCEANA.  So  far,  Letitia,  your  actions  have  proceeded, 
not  from  love  of  him,  but  from  hatred  of  me. 

LETITIA.  Oh !  And  if  I  fail  to  measure  up  to  your 
tests  of  love  .  .  . 

OCEANA.     [Triumphantly.]     Then  he  is  mine ! 

LETITIA.    And  the  fact  that  he  is  my  husband  .   .   . 

OCEANA.     Is  nothing ! 

LETITIA.  The  fact  that  he  vowed  to  keep  faith  with 
me  .  .  . 

OCEANA.     Is  nothing! 

LETITIA.  That  I  am  dependent  upon  him  for 
support  .  .  . 

OCEANA.     You  have  money  of  your  own,  Letitia. 

LETITIA.  Do  you  suppose  I  am  thinking  about  money? 
I  mean  his  protection. 

OCEANA.  A  person  who  confesses  to  the  need  of  pro 
tection  has  written  himself  down  an  inferior.  [A  pause.] 
You  see,  Letitia,  times  have  changed;  our  ideas  of  mar 
riage  have  changed.  In  the  beginning  a  woman  was  a 
man's  economic  dependent;  now  that  the  man  has  become 
ashamed  of  that,  he  is  made  the  woman's  spiritual  de 
pendent.  You  play  upon  his  sense  of  chivalry,  his  sym 
pathy,  his  pity;  and  you  prey  upon  him,  you  devour  him 
alive.  But  the  time  has  come  when  that  must  cease, 
Letitia  .  .  .  man  will  not  always  be  a  domestic  appendage ! 


ACT  iv]          THE  NATUREWOMAN  65 

And  you  will  simply  have  to  face  this  new  situation.  Do 
you  still  possess  your  husband's  love?  Do  you  really  love 
hint?  Nothing  else  will  count  .  .  .  none  of  your  "rights" 
...  we  are  not  afraid  of  man  or  devil. 

LETITIA.  [Gasps.]  Oh!  [Turns  to  HENRY.]  Henry, 
will  you  tell  me  what  all  this  means?  Can  it  be  that  you 
assent  to  these  outrageous  ideas? 

HENRY.  I  assent  to  them,  Letitia.  It  may  be  that  you 
still  love  me,  but  you  have  given  me  few  signs  of  it. 
You  have  been  .  .  .  you  are  ...  a  selfish  woman. 

LETITIA.     Henry ! 

HENRY.  How  often  do  you  give  a  thought  to  me  ...  to 
the  needs  of  my  nature?  You  think  of  your  whims  and 
your  prejudices;  you  think  of  your  social  position  ...  of 
your  "world"  and  its  conventions.  You  think  of  what 
your  mother  approves,  of  what  your  father  approves,  of 
what  this  person  will  say  and  what  that  person  will  say. 
And  I  follow  you  about  ...  I  play  my  part  in  the  hollow 
show  that  you  call  life;  but  all  the  time  my  heart  is  cry 
ing  out  in  me  ...  I  am  starving  .  .  .  starving ! 

LETITIA.     [Startled.]     Henry ! 

OCEANA.     Ah  !     She  is  beginning  to  see  it ! 

LETITIA.  [Stretches  out  her  arms  and  totters  towards 
him,  weeping.]  Henry!  I  love  you !  [Wildly.]  Believe 
me !  Believe  me !  I  love  you !  Don't  you  remember 
when  you  were  ill  three  years  ago  .  .  .  how  I  nursed  you 
and  watched  over  you?  You  knew  that  I  loved  you  then. 
Why,  you  said  I'd  worn  myself  to  a  shadow !  You  kissed 
me,  and  told  me  I'd  saved  your  life!  And  when  I  was  ill 
myself,  and  you  thought  I  was  dying  .  .  .  didn't  you  real 
ize  that  you  loved  me?  And  the  children?  Have  you  never 
given  a  thought  to  them?  Are  they  nothing  to  you?  And 
you  to  them  ?  You  know  that  you  love  them,  Henry  .  .  . 
you  dare  not  deny  it.  Are  they  to  be  without  a  father 
all  their  lives?  [Falls  into  his  arms.]  My  husband! 


66  THE  NATUREWOMAN          [ACT  iv 

HENRY.     [Catches  her,  deeply  moved.~\     Letitia ! 

OCEANA.  [Has  been  zvatching  them  intently;  now, 
startled  and  pained.']  Ah !  I  thought  so !  [She  turns 
away;  supports  herself  by  the  table;  whispers.]  That 
settles  it! 

LETITIA.  Henry,  if  I  have  been  selfish,  I  am  sorry! 
I  humble  myself  before  you  ...  I  beg  you  for  forgive 
ness  !  Henry,  I  do  love  you !  Don't  you  believe  me  ? 

HENRY.     [Faintly.]    I  believe  you. 

OCEANA.  [Clenches  her  hands  and  turns  resolutely.] 
You  see,  Hal,  I  knew  it !  [He  bows  his  head.]  You  can't 
get  away  from  her.  [She  pauses.]  You  understand  it  all 
now  .  .  .  what  my  instinct  told  me.  You  still  love  her,  you 
still  belong  to  her.  You  would  have  gone  away  with  me, 
and  you  would  still  have  been  thinking  about  her — worry 
ing  about  her.  It  would  have  been  tearing  your  soul  in 
half.  [She  waits;  he  does  not  look  at  her;  she  goes  on, 
half  to  convince  herself.]  She  is  not  big  enough  to  give 
you  up.  She  could  not  say,  "Oceana  is  young  and  needs 
you;  you  love  Oceana,  and  she  will  make  you  happy.  Go 
with  her."  No,  she  would  think  of  the  world  and  its  con 
ventions  .  .  .  she  would  be  jealous  and  bitter.  She  would 
eat  her  heart  out  .  .  .  she  would  tear  herself  to  pieces! 
And  that  would  tear  you  to  pieces  .  .  .  you  could  never 
forget  it.  And  there  are  the  children,  Hal.  It's  true  that 
you  love  them;  you  think  about  them  all  the  time  ...  I 
know,  for  you  speak  of  them.  And  she  could  take  them 
away  from  you,  legally  .  .  .  how  much  chance  would  they 
ever  have  in  life,  if  she  and  her  mother  had  the  bringing 
up  of  them?  Don't  you  see,  Hal?  What  can  we  do? 

LETITIA.  [Clinging  to  HENRY'S  bosom.]  Henry,  I  love 
you! 

OCEANA.  I  want  to  play  the  game  generously,  Letitia; 
but  it  is  all  I  can  do  not  to  despise  you  .  .  .  because  he 
loves  you,  and  it  has  meant  so  little  to  you,  you  have  done 


ACT  iv]         THE  NATUREWOMAN  67 

so  little  in  return.  That  is  the  curse  of  this  thing  you  call 
marriage.  You  say  to  yourself  that  you've  got  him 
.  .  .  the  law  and  the  conventions  will  keep  him  for  you 
.  .  .  and  so  you  can  treat  him  as  you  please.  You'll  take 
him  off  with  you  now,  and  you'll  set  to  work  to  get  right 
back  where  you  were  before  .  .  .  yes,  she  will,  Hal.  She'll 
try  to  wheedle  you  into  backing  down  from  this  position. 
She  will  weep  and  she  will  scold.  But  you  stand  firm 
.  .  .  stand  firm !  What  we  did  was  right  ...  it  was 
noble  and  true,  and  if  more  married  people  did  such 
things,  it  would  be  better  for  them. 

LETITIA.  [Clinging  to  HENRY.]  Henry,  come  home 
with  me ! 

HENRY.    All  right,  I'll  come. 
He  does  not  lift  his  head. 

OCEANA.  Look  at  me.  It's  all  right,  Hal  .  .  .  it's  all 
right. 

She  speaks  with  intensity;  they  gaze  into  each 
other's  eyes. 

HENRY.  [Stretches  out  his  hand  to  her.']  Oceana  .  .  . 
I'm  sorry  .  .  . 

OCEANA.  [IVith  sudden  emotion.]  No,  Hal!  Go  .  .  . 
go  quickly  !  Please  ! 

He  goes  out,  right,  with  LETITIA  ;  OCEANA  stands 
gazing  straight  ahead.  Sound  of  sleigh-bells  heard. 
Suddenly  she  sinks  into  a  chair,  bows  her  head  upon 
the  table,  and  bursts  into  tears. 

ETHEL.  [Opens  door,  left,  and  stands  gazing  at  OCEAXA 
in  alarm,  then  runs  to  her  and  sinks  upon  her  knees  be 
fore  her.']  Oceana ! 

OCEANA.     [Sobbing.]    He's  gone  !    Gone  ! 

ETHEL.     He  left  you? 

OCEANA.  I  gave  him  up !  I  sent  him  away.  Oh,  Ethel, 
Ethel  .  .  .  what  am  I  going  to  do? 

ETHEL.     Oceana ! 


68  THE  NATUREWOMAN         [ACT  iv 

OCEANA.  Oh,  how  I  loved  him !  I  didn't  realize  how 
I  loved  him !  The  whole  face  of  the  world  was  changed 
.  .  .  and  now,  now  .  .  .  how  shall  I  bear  it?  [She  stares 
ahead  of  her.]  Oh,  Ethel,  tell  me  I  did  right  to  give 
him  up. 

ETHEL.     Why  did  you  do  it? 

OCEANA.  I  saw  he  loved  her,  and  I  had  to  give  him  up. 
It  would  have  been  to  tear  his  soul  in  half !  But  now  that 
he's  gone,  I  don't  see  how  I  can  bear  it!  [A  pause;  she 
is  lost  in  thought;  she  whispers  with  great  intensity.] 
There  is  a  vision  ...  it  haunts  me  ...  it  cries  out  in 
me  in  a  voice  of  agony ! 

ETHEL.     What  ? 

OCEANA.  A  little  child!  You  have  no  idea  .  .  .  how 
real  it  was  to  me !  It  fell  out  of  the  skies  upon  me !  The 
thought  never  left  me.  I  heard  its  voice  ...  its  laughter; 
I  saw  its  smile.  It  called  to  me  all  day,  and  it  played  with 
me  in  my  dreams;  I  felt  its  little  hands  upon  me  ...  its 
lips  upon  my  breast.  And  it's  gone! 

ETHEL.     Your  child! 

OCEANA.  And  his  !  And  think  .  .  .  think  of  the  awful- 
ness  of  it  .  .  .it  was  hovering  at  the  gates  of  life !  It 
wanted  to  be !  And  I  trembled  ...  I  suffered ;  at  any 
moment  I  might  have  said  the  word,  and  it  would  have 
come.  But  I  did  not  say  the  word  .  .  .  and  it  is  gone. 
And  now  it  will  never  come  !  Never  .  .  .  never  !  I  have 
murdered  the  child  !  My  child ! 

ETHEL.     No,  no,  Oceana ! 

OCEANA.  God!  I  can't  understand  it!  What  does  it 
mean?  Did  it  exist  when  I  thought  of  it?  Does  it  exist 
now?  Who  can  tell  me? 

ETHEL.     I  don't  know,  Oceana. 

OCEANA.  The  strangeness  of  it !  Sometimes  my  whole 
being  rises  up  in  revolt  ...  I  could  tear  the  skies  apart, 
to  wrest  the  secret  from  them !  You  see,  we  don't  know 


ACT  iv]          THE  NATUREWOMAN  69 

anything.  We  don't  know  what's  right,  we  don't  know 
what's  wrong.  We're  in  a  trap !  [She  rises  suddenly.'] 
No,  no,  I  mustn't  talk  that  way.  I've  lost  my  self-control. 
I  let  myself  go,  and  I  had  no  right  to.  Now,  what  shall 
I  do?  Wait,  dear  ...  let  me  think,  let  me  think  calmly. 
[Stares  about  her.]  I  want  to  remember  what  father  said 
to  me;  what  I  promised  to  do.  See,  Ethel  .  .  .  the  sun  is 
setting.  Look  at  the  sky!  And  it's  the  last  day  of  the 
month,  isn't  it? 

ETHEL.     Yes. 

OCEANA.  If  father  had  been  here  we  should  have  sat 
us  down  to  one  of  our  services !  Look  here.  [She  goes 
to  trunk,  and  takes  out  a  human  skull.']  Ah,  old  friend! 

ETHEL.     [Shocked.]     Oceana ! 

OCEANA.  He  came  from  the  Marquesas,  I  think.  And 
here's  where  he  was  hit  with  the  spear.  You  see?  Sit 
down.  [She  places  the  skull  before  her.']  See,  Ethel — 
he  used  to  smile.  And  now  and  then  he  had  the  toothache 
.  .  .  see  that?  He  took  himself  very  seriously;  he  was  all 
wrapped  up  in  the  things  that  went  on  in  this  little  cracked 
skull.  But  he  lacked  imagination.  He  never  foresaw  that 
somebody  would  carry  him  off  to  the  New  Hampshire 
mountains,  and  make  him  the  text  for  a  Hamlet  soliloquy. 
Alas,  poor  Yorick !  He  did  not  know  that  he  was  im 
mortal,  you  see;  that  life  proceeded  from  him  .  .  .  unroll 
ing  itself  for  generation  after  generation  without  end ; 
that  all  that  he  did  would  be  perpetuated  .  .  .  that  where 
he  sinned  we  would  suffer,  and  where  he  fought  we  would 
be  strong.  He  did  not  know  that  he  was  the  creator,  the 
mystic  fountain  of  an  unexplored  stream  .  .  .  the  maker 
of  an  endless  future  .  .  .  [She  stops;  a  spasm  of  pain 
crosses  her  face.~\  Oh,  Ethel !  [Clasps  her  hand.~\  It  is 
terrible  to  die  young,  is  it  not? 

ETHEL.     Yes. 

OCEANA.     Then  how  much  worse  is  it  to  die  before  you 


70  THE  NATUREWOMAN          [ACT  iv 

are  born !  To  be  strangled  in  the  idea  .  .  .  to  be  stifled 
by  a  cowardly  thought ! 

ETHEL.     What  do  you  mean  ? 

OCEANA.  Oh,  Ethel,  stay  by  me,  will  you  ?  Promise  me 
you  will  stay  by  me. 

ETHEL.     I  will ! 

OCEANA.  I'm  frightened,  Ethel  .  .  .  frightened  at  my 
self.  I've  done  wrong  .  .  .  I've  committed  a  crime !  I 
ought  not  to  have  let  him  go !  I  ought  not  to  have  let 
him  go ! 

ETHEL.     Henry  ? 

OCEANA.  No,  we  mustn't  speak  of  him  again.  I  can't 
bear  to  hear  his  name.  I  have  failed  ...  I  have  failed. 
I've  been  crushed  by  civilization  !  [Starts  upJ]  But  there's 
my  island!  There's  the  white  beach,  shining  in  the  moon 
light,  and  the  great  breakers  rolling  in,  and  the  palm  trees 
rustling  in  the  wind.  Let  us  go  together  .  .  .  to  my 
island!  Let  us  go  back  and  get  healed,  before  we  try  to 
face  this  world  again ! 

CURTAIN 


THE    MACHINE 


CHARACTERS 
(In  order  of  appearance) 

JULIA  PATTERSON  :  a  magazine  writer. 
JACK  BULLEN  :  a  parlor  Socialist. 
LAURA  HEGAN  :  Hegan's  daughter. 
ALLAN  MONTAGUE  :  a  lawyer. 
JIM  HEGAN  :  the  traction  king. 
ANNIE  ROBERTS:  a  girl  of  the  slums. 
ROBERT  GRIMES:  the  boss. 
ANDREWS:  Hegan's  secretary. 
PARKER:  a  clerk. 

ACT   I 

Julia  Patterson's  apartments  in  a  model  tenement  on 
the  lower  East  Side. 

ACT   II 

Library  at  "The  Towers,"  Hegan's  country  place  on 
Long  Island,  two  weeks  later. 

ACT   III 

Hegan's  private  office  in  Wall  street,  the  next  morn 
ing. 


THE  MACHINE 


ACT    I 

JULIA  PATTERSON'S  apartments  in  a  model  tenement  on 
the  loiter  East  Side.  The  scene  shows  the  living- 
room,  furnished  very  plainly,  but  in  the  ncivest  taste; 
"arts  and  crafts"  furniture,  portraits  of  Morris 
and  Ruskin  on  the  walls;  a  centre  table,  a  couple 
of  easy-chairs,  a  divan  and  many  book-shelves. 
The  entrance  from  the  outer  hall  is  at  centre ;  en 
trance  to  the  other  rooms  right  and  left. 
At  rise:  JULIA  has  pushed  back  the  lamp  from  the  table 
and  is  haznng  a  light  supper,  with  a  cup  of  tea; 
and  at  the  same  time  trying  to  read  a  magazine, 
which  obstinately  refuses  to  remain  open  at  the 
right  place.  She  is  an  attractive  and  intelligent 
woman  of  thirty.  The  doorbell  rings. 

JULIA.    Ah,  Jack ! 

Presses  button,  then  goes  to  the  door. 

JACK.  [Enters,  having  come  upstairs  at  a  run.  He  is  a 
college  graduate  and  volunteer  revolutionist,  one  of  the 
organizers  of  the  "Society  of  the  Friends  of  Russian 
Freedom";  handsome  and  ardent,  eager  in  manner,  and 
a  great  talker.]  Hello,  Julia.  All  alone? 

JULIA.  Yes.  I  expected  a  friend,  but  she  can't  come 
until  later. 

JACK.    Just  eating? 

JULIA.     I've  been  on  the  go  all  day.    Have  something. 
73 


74  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  i 

JACK.  No ;  I  had  dinner.  [As  she  starts  to  clear  things 
away.~\  Don't  stop  on  my  account. 

JULIA.  I  was  just  finishing  up.  [As  he  begins  to  help.] 
No;  sit  down. 

JACK.  Nonsense.  Let  the  men  be  of  some  use  in  the 
world. 

JULIA.    What  have  you  been  up  to  to-day? 

JACK.  We're  organizing  a  demonstration  for  the 
Swedish  strikers. 

JULIA.  It's  marvelous  how  those  Swedes  hold  on, 
isn't  it? 

JACK.  The  people  are  getting  their  eyes  open.  And 
when  they're  once  open,  they  stay  open. 

JULIA.    Yes.    Did  you  see  my  article? 

JACK.    I  should  think  I  did !    Julia,  that  was  a  dandy  ! 

JULIA.    Do  you  think  so? 

JACK.  I  do,  indeed.  You've  made  a  hit.  I  heard  a 
dozen  people  talking  about  it. 

JULIA.    Indeed  ? 

JACK.    You've  come  to  be  the  champion  female  muck- 
raker  of  the  country,  I  think. 
JULIA  laughs. 

JACK.  Why  did  you  want  to  see  me  so  specially  to 
night? 

JULIA.  I've  a  friend  I  want  you  to  meet.  Somebody 
I'm  engaged  in  educating. 

JACK.  You  seem  to  have  chosen  me  for  your  favorite 
proselytizer. 

JULIA.    YouVe  seen  things  with  your  own  eyes,  Jack. 

JACK.    Yes;  I  suppose  so. 

JULIA.  And  you  know  how  to  tell  about  them.  And 
you've  such  an  engaging  way  about  you  .  .  .  nobody 
could  help  but  take  to  you. 

JACK.    Cut  out  the  taffy.    Who's  your  friend? 

JULIA.    Her  name's  Hegan. 


i]  THE  MACHINE  75 

JACK.    A  woman? 

JULIA.  A  girl,  yes.  And  she's  coming  right  along, 
Jack.  You  must  take  a  little  trouble  with  her,  for  if  we 
can  only  bring  her  through,  she  can  do  a  lot  for  us. 
She's  got  no  end  of  money. 

JACK.    No  relative  of  Jim  Hegan,  I  hope? 

JULIA.     She's  his  daughter. 

JACK.    [With  a  bound.}    What! 

JULIA.    His  only  daughter. 

JACK.    Good  God,  Julia ! 

JULIA.    What's  the  matter? 

JACK.    You  know  I  don't  want  to  meet  people  like  that. 

JULIA.    Why  not? 

JACK.  I  don't  care  to  mix  with  them.  I've  nothing  to 
say  to  them. 

JULIA.    My  dear  Jack,  the  girl  can't  help  her  father. 

JACK.  I  know  that,  and  I'm  sorry  for  her.  But,  mean 
time,  I've  got  my  work  to  do  .  .  . 

JULIA.  You  couldn't  be  doing  any  better  work  than 
this.  If  we  can  make  a  Socialist  of  Laura  Hegan  .  .  . 

JACK.  Oh,  stuff,  Julia !  I've  given  up  chasing  after 
will-o'-the-wisps  like  that. 

JULIA.    But  think  what  she  could  do ! 

JACK.  Yes.  I  used  to  think  what  a  whole  lot  of  peo 
ple  could  do.  You  might  as  well  ask  me  to  think  what 
her  father  could  do  .  .  .  if  he  only  wanted  to  do  it,  in 
stead  of  poisoning  the  life-blood  of  the  city,  and  piling 
up  his  dirty  millions.  Go  about  this  town  and  see  the 
misery  and  horror  .  .  .  and  think  that  it's  Jim  Hegan 
who  sits  at  the  top  and  reaps  the  profit  of  it  all !  It's  Jim 
Hegan  who  is  back  of  the  organization  .  .  .  he's  the  real 
power  behind  Boss  Grimes.  It's  he  who  puts  up  the 
money  and  makes  possible  this  whole  regime  of  vice  and 
graft  .  .  . 

JULIA.    My  dear  boy,  don't  be  silly. 


76  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  i 

JACK.    How  do  you  mean?    Isn't  it  true? 

JULIA.  Of  course  it's  true  .  .  .  but  why  declaim  to 
me  about  it?  You  forget  you  are  talking  to  the  cham 
pion  female  muckraker  of  the  country. 

JACK.  Yes,  that's  right.  But  I  don't  want  to  meet 
these  people  socially.  They  mean  well,  a  lot  of  them, 
I  suppose;  but  they've  been  accustomed  all  their  lives  to 
being  people  of  importance  ...  to  have  everybody  stand 
in  awe  of  them,  because  of  their  stolen  money,  and  all 
the  wonderful  things  they  might  do  with  it  if  they  only 
would. 

JULIA.  My  dear  Jack,  did  you  ever  observe  anything 
of  the  tuft-hunter  in  me? 

JACK.  No,  I  don't  know  that  I  have.  But  it's  never 
too  late. 

JULIA.  [Laughing.]  Well,  until  you  do,  have  a  little 
faith  in  me!  Meet  Laura  Hegan,  and  judge  for  your 
self. 

JACK.  [Grumbling.']  All  right,  I'll  meet  her.  But  let 
me  tell  you,  I  don't  propose  to  spare  her  feelings.  She'll 
get  things  straight  from  me. 

JULIA.  That's  all  right,  my  boy.  Give  her  the  class 
war  and  the  Revolution  with  a  capital  R !  Tell  her 
you're  the  only  original  representative  of  the  disinher 
ited  proletariat,  and  that  some  day,  before  long,  you 
intend  to  plant  the  red  flag  over  her  daddy's  palace. 
[Seriously.']  Of  course,  what  you'll  actually  do  is  meet 
her  like  a  gentleman,  and  tell  her  of  some  of  your  adven 
tures  in  Russia,  and  give  her  some  idea  of  what's  going 
on  outside  of  her  little  Fifth  avenue  set. 

JACK.    Where  did  you  run  on  to  her  ? 

JULIA.    I  met  her  at  the  settlement. 

JACK.  Good  Lord!  Jim  Hegan's  daughter!  [Laughs.'] 
They  were  toadying  to  her  there,  I'll  wager. 

JULIA.     Well,  you  know  what   settlement  people  are. 


ACT  i]  THE  MACHINE  77 

She's  been  coming  there  for  quite  a  while,  and  seems  to 
be  interested.     She's  given  them  quite  a  lot  of  money. 

JACK.     No  doubt. 

JULIA.  I  had  a  little  talk  with  her  one  afternoon.  She's 
a  quiet,  self-contained  girl,  but  she  gave  me  a  peculiar 
impression.  She  seemed  to  be  unhappy;  there  was  a  kind 
of  troubled  note  in  what  she  said.  I  had  felt  uncomfort 
able  about  meeting  her  .  .  .  you  can  imagine,  after  my 
study  of  "Tammany  and  the  Traction  Trust." 

JACK.    Did  she  mention  that? 

JULIA.  No,  she  never  has.  But  I've  several  times  had 
the  feeling  that  she  was  trying  to  get  up  the  courage  to 
do  it.  I've  thought,  somehow,  that  she  must  be  suffering 
about  her  father. 

JACK.  My  God!  Wouldn't  it  be  a  joke  if  Nemesis 
were  to  get  at  Jim  Hegan  through  his  daughter? 

JULIA.     Yes;  wouldn't  it! 

JACK.  How  do  you  suppose  he  takes  her  reform 
activities? 

JULIA.  I  don't  know,  but  I  fancy  they  must  have  had 
it  out.  She's  not  the  sort  of  person  to  let  herself  be 
turned  back  when  her  mind's  made  up. 

JACK.  A  sort  of  chip  of  the  old  block.  [After  a  pause.] 
If  I'd  known  what  was  up,  I  wouldn't  have  suggested  ask 
ing  anybody  else  to  come  .  .  . 

JULIA.  Oh,  that's  all  right;  it  won't  make  any  differ 
ence. 

JACK.  This  chap,  Montague,  that  I  'phoned  to  you 
about  .  .  .  he's  a  sort  of  a  convert  of  my  own. 

JULIA.     I  see.     We'll  reciprocate. 

JACK.     I  think  I've  got  Montague  pretty  well  landed. 
You'll  be  interested  in  him  .    .    .   it's  quite  a  story.     It 
was  last   election   day.    .    . 
The   bell   rings. 


78  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  i 

JULIA.  Ah,  there's  somebody.  [She  goes  to  the  door; 
calls.']  Is  that  you,  Miss  Hegan? 

LAURA.    [Off.']    Yes,  it's  I. 

JULIA.    You  found  your  way,  did  you  ? 

LAURA.  Oh,  no  trouble  at  all.  [Enters,  a  tall,  stately 
girl,  about  twenty-three;  simply  but  elegantly  clad.~]  How 
do  you  do? 

JULIA.  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you.  Jack,  this  is  Miss 
Hegan.  Mr.  Bullen. 

LAURA.    How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Bullen? 

JACK.    I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,  Miss  Hegan. 

JULIA.    Let  me  take  your  things. 

LAURA.  [Looking  about.']  Oh,  what  a  cozy  place!  I 
think  these  model  tenements  are  delightful. 

JULIA.  They're  indispensable  to  us  agitators  ...  an 
oasis  in  a  desert. 

JACK.  Built  for  the  proletariat,  and  inhabited  by 
cranks. 

LAURA.    Is  that  the  truth? 

JULIA.  It's  certainly  the  truth  about  this  one.  Below 
me  are  two  painters  and  a  settlement  worker,  and  next 
door  is  a  blind  Anarchist  and  a  Yiddish  poet. 

LAURA.    What's  the  reason  for  it? 

JULIA.  [Going  to  room  off  left  with  LAURA'S  things.] 
The  places  are  clean  and  cheap;  and  whenever  the  poor 
can't  pay  their  rent,  we  take  their  homes. 

JACK.    The  elimination  of  the  unfit. 

LAURA.  It  sounds  like  a  tragic  explanation;  but  I 
guess  it's  true.  [Looking  at  JackJ]  And  so  this  is  Mr. 
Bullen.  For  such  a  famous  revolutionist,  I  expected  to 
find  some  one  more  dangerous-looking. 

JULIA.  [Returning.']  Don't  make  up  your  mind  too 
soon  about  Jack.  He's  liable  to  startle  you. 

LAURA.  I'm  not  easily  startled  any  more.  I'm  getting 
quite  used  to  meeting  revolutionists. 


ACT  i]  THE  MACHINE  79 

JACK.  You  don't  call  them  revolutionists  that  you  meet 
at  the  settlement,  I  hope? 

LAURA.    No;  but  all  sorts  of  people  come  there. 

JULIA.  By  the  way,  Jack  'phoned  me  this  afternoon, 
and  said  he'd  invited  a  friend  here.  I  hope  you  don't 
mind. 

LAURA.  Why,  no ;  not  at  all.  Is  it  one  of  your  Russian 
friends? 

JACK.  Oh,  no;  he's  an  American.  His  name  is  Mon 
tague.  I  was  just  starting  to  tell  Julia  about  him  when 
you  came  in. 

LAURA.    Go  ahead. 

JACK.  It  was  quite  an  adventure.  I  don't  know  that 
I've  ever  had  one  that  was  more  exciting.  And  I've  had 
quite  some,  you  know. 

LAURA.    Yes ;  I've  been  told  so. 

JACK.  It  was  last  election  day,  in  a  polling  place  on 
the  Bowery.  I  was  a  watcher  for  the  Socialists,  and  this 
Montague  was  one  of  the  watchers  for  the  reform  crowd. 
The  other  one  was  drunk,  and  so  he  had  the  work  all  to 
himself.  It  was  in  the  heart  of  Leary's  district,  and  the 
crowd  there  was  a  tough  one,  I  can  tell  you.  It  was  a 
close  election. 

LAURA.    Yes;  I  know. 

JACK.  There'd  been  all  kinds  of  monkey-work  going 
on,  and  the  box  was  full  of  marked  and  defective  bal 
lots,  and  Montague  set  to  work  to  make  them  throw 
them  out.  I  didn't  pay  much  attention  at  first.  I  was 
only  there  to  see  that  our  own  ballots  were  counted; 
but  pretty  soon  I  began  to  take  interest.  He  had  every 
one  in  the  place  against  him.  There  was  a  Tammany 
inspector  of  elections  and  four  tally  clerks  ...  all  in 
with  Tammany,  of  course.  There  were  three  or  four 
Tammany  policemen,  and,  outside  of  the  railing,  the 
worst  crowd  of  toughs  that  ever  you  laid  eyes  on.  To 


80  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  i 

make  matters  worse,  there  were  several  men  inside  who 
had  no  business  to  be  there  .  .  .  one  of  them  a  Judge 
of  the  City  Court,  and  another  a  State's  attorney  .  .  . 
and  all  of  them  storming  at  Montague. 

JULIA.    What  did  he  do? 

JACK.  He  just  made  them  throw  out  the  marked  bal 
lots.  They  were  willing  enough  to  put  them  to  one  side, 
but  wanted  to  count  them  in  on  the  tally  sheets.  And, 
of  course,  Montague  knew  perfectly  well  that  if  they 
ever  counted  them  in  they'd  close  up  at  the  end,  and  that 
would  be  all  there  was  to  it.  He  had  the  law  with  him, 
of  course.  He's  a  lawyer  himself,  and  he  seemed  to  know 
it  all  by  heart;  and  he'd  quote  it  to  them,  paragraph  by 
paragraph,  and  they'd  look  it  up  and  find  that  he  was 
right,  and,  of  course,  that  only  made  them  madder.  The 
old  Judge  would  start  up  in  his  seat.  "Officer !"  he'd 
shout  (he  was  a  red-faced,  ignorant  fellow  ...  a 
typical  barroom  politician,  "I  demand  that  you  put 
that  man  out  of  here."  And  the  cop  actually  laid  his 
hand  on  Montague's  shoulder;  if  he'd  ever  been  landed 
on  the  other  side  of  that  railing  the  crowd  would  have 
torn  him  to  pieces.  But  the  man  stayed  as  cool  as  a 
cucumber.  "Officer,"  he  said,  "you  are  aware  that  I  am 
an  election  official,  here  under  the  protection  of  the  law; 
and  if  you  refuse  me  that  protection  you  are  liable  to  a 
sentence  in  State's  prison."  Then  he'd  quote  another 
paragraph. 

JULIA.    It's  a  wonder  he  ever  held  them. 

JACK.  He  did  it;  he  made  them  throw  out  forty-seven 
ballots  .  .  .  and  thirty-eight  of  them  were  Tammany 
ballots,  too.  There  was  one  time  when  I  thought  the 
gang  was  going  to  break  loose,  and  I  sneaked  out  and 
telephoned  for  help.  Then  I  came  back  and  spoke  up 
for  him.  I  wanted  them  to  know  there'd  be  one  witness. 


ACT  i]  THE  MACHINE  81 

You  should  have  seen  the  grateful  look  that  Montague 
gave  me. 

LAURA.     I  can  imagine  it. 

JULIA.    And  how  did  it  end? 

JACK.  Why,  you  see,  we  kept  them  there  till  eleven 
o'clock  at  night,  and  by  that  time  everybody  knew  that 
Tammany  had  won,  and  the  ballots  were  not  needed.  So 
the  old  Judge  patted  us  on  the  back  and  told  us  we  were 
heroes,  and  invited  us  out  to  get  drunk  with  him.  Mon 
tague  and  I  walked  home  together  through  the  election 
din,  and  got  acquainted.  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  met 
a  man  I  took  to  more  quickly. 

LAURA.  You  are  making  a  Socialist  out  of  him,  of 
course? 

JACK.  Oh,  he's  coming  on.  But  he  is  not  the  sort  of 
man  to  take  his  ideas  from  any  one  else  ...  he  wants 
to  see  for  himself.  He  hasn't  been  in  New  York  long, 
you  know  ...  he  comes  from  the  South  .  .  .  from 
Mississippi. 

LAURA.  [Startled.]  From  Mississippi !  What's  his 
first  name? 

JACK.    Allan. 

LAURA.     [Betraying  emotion.']     Allan  Montague ! 

JACK.     Do  you  know  him? 

LAURA.  Yes;  I  know  him  very  well,  indeed.  Oh  ... 
I  didn't  .  .  .  that  is  ...  I  have  not  seen  him  for  a  long 
time.  [Recovering  her  poiseJ]  Is  he  surely  coming? 

JACK.     He  generally  keeps  his  engagements. 

JULIA.    How  did  you  come  to  know  him? 

LAURA.    He's  Ollie  Montague's  brother. 

JACK.    Who's  Ollie  Montague? 

LAURA.  He's  one  of  those  pretty  boys  that  everybody 
knows  in  society;  he  brought  his  brother  up  from  the 
South  to  introduce  him.  He  was  in  some  business  deal 
or  other  with  my  father.  Then  he  seemed  to  drop  out  of 


82  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  i 

everything,  and  nobody  sees  him  any  more.    I  don't  know 
why. 

JACK.    I  think  he  was  disgusted  with  his  experiences. 

LAURA.    Oh ! 

JACK.  [Realising  that  he  had  said  something  awk 
ward.']  I  think  I  was  the  first  Socialist  he'd  ever  met. 
He  had  just  gotten  to  the  stage  of  despair.  He'd  started 
out  with  a  long  program  of  reforms  .  .  .  and  he  was 
going  to  educate  the  people  to  them  .  .  .  one  by  one, 
until  he'd  made  them  all  effective.  I  said  to  him:  "By 
the  time  you've  got  the  attention  of  the  public  on  reform 
number  thirty  .  .  .  what  do  you  suppose  the  politicians 
will  have  been  doing  with  reform  number  one?" 

JULIA.  We  all  have  to  go  through  that  stage.  I  can 
remember  just  as  well  .  .  .  [A  ring  upon  the  bell.']  Ah, 
there  he  is. 

JACK.  [Rises  and  goes  to  the  door.']  But  I  think  he's 
most  through  butting  his  head  against  the  stone  wall ! 
[Calls.']  Are  you  there,  old  man? 

MONTAGUE.     [Off.]     I'm  here ! 

JACK.    How  are  you? 

MONTAGUE.    Fine ! 

JACK.    Come  right  in. 

MONTAGUE.  [Enters;  a  tall,  handsome  man  of  thirty; 
self-contained  and  slow  of  speech;  the  dark  type  of  a 
Southerner.']  I'm  a  trifle  late.  [Sees  LAURA;  starts."] 
Miss  Hegan!  You!  [Recovers  himself.]  Why  .  .  . 
an  unexpected  pleasure ! 

LAURA.    Unexpected  on  both  sides,  Mr.  Montague. 

MONTAGUE.    I'm  delighted  to  meet  you,  really ! 
They  shake  hands. 

JACK.  Julia,  my  friend,  Mr.  Montague.  Miss  Patter 
son. 

MONTAGUE.    I'm  very  glad  to  meet  you,  Miss  Patterson. 


ACT  i]  THE  MACHINE  88 

JULIA.  We  had  no  idea  we  were  bringing  old  friends 
together. 

MONTAGUE.    No ;  it  was  certainly  a  coincidence. 

LAURA.  It's  been  ...  let  me  see  ...  a  year  since 
we've  met. 

MONTAGUE.    It  must  be  fully  that. 

LAURA.    Where  do  you  keep  yourself  these  days? 

MONTAGUE.    Oh,  I'm  studying,  in  a  quiet  way. 

LAURA.    And  none  of  your  old  friends  ever  see  you? 

MONTAGUE.    I  don't  get  about  much. 

LAURA.  [Earnestly.']  And  friendship  means  so  little 
to  you  as  that  ? 

MONTAGUE.     I   ...    it  would  be  hard  to  explain.     I 
have  been  busy  with  politics  .   .   . 
A  pause  of  embarrassment. 

JULIA.  Mr.  Bullen  has  just  been  telling  us  about  your 
heroism. 

MONTAGUE.    My  heroism ?     Where? 

JULIA.    At  the  polling  place. 

MONTAGUE.    Oh,  that !    It  was  nothing. 

LAURA.    It  seemed  like  a  good  deal  to  us. 

MONTAGUE.  Make  him  tell  you  about  some  of  his  own 
adventures. 

JULIA.  Would  you  ever  think,  to  look  at  his  innocent 
countenance,  that  he  had  helped  to  hold  a  building  for 
six  hours  against  Russian  artillery? 

LAURA.     Good  heavens!     Where  was  this? 

JULIA.    During  the  St.  Petersburg  uprising. 

LAURA.    And  weren't  you  frightened  to  death? 

JACK.  [Laughing.']  No;  we  were  too  busy  taking  pot 
shots  at  the  Cossacks.  It  was  like  the  hunting  season 
in  the  Adirondacks. 

LAURA.    And  how  did  it  turn  out? 

JACK.  Oh,  they  were  too  much  for  us  in  the  end.  I 
got  away,  across  the  ice  of  the  Neva  ...  I  had  the  heel 


84  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  i 

of  one  shoe  shot  off.     And  yet  people  tell  us  romance  is 
dead!     Anybody  who  is  looking  for  romance,  and  knows 
what  it  is,  can  find  all  he  wants  in  Russia. 
Pause. 

LAURA.  [To  MONTAGUE.]  Have  you  seen  my  father 
lately? 

MONTAGUE.    No ;  not  for  some  time. 

LAURA.  You  may  see  him  this  evening.  He  promised 
to  call  for  me. 

MONTAGUE.    Indeed ! 

JACK.    Oh,  by  the  way,  Julia,  I  forgot!    How's  Annie? 

LAURA.    Oh,  yes;  how  is  she? 

JULIA.     She's  doing  well,  I  think.    Better  every  day. 

LAURA.    Is  she  still  violent? 

JULIA.    Not  so  much.    I  can  always  handle  her  now. 

LAURA.    Is  she  in  the  next  room? 
Looking  to  the  right. 

JULIA.    Yes.     She's  been  asleep  since  afternoon. 

LAURA.  And  you  still  won't  let  me  send  her  to  a  hos 
pital  ? 

JULIA.    Oh,  no.    Truly,  it  would  kill  the  poor  girl. 

LAURA.  But  you  .  .  .  with  all  your  work,  and  your 
engagements  ? 

JULIA.  She's  very  quiet.  And  the  neighbors  come  in 
and  help  when  I'm  out.  They  all  sympathize. 

LAURA.  Talking  about  heroism  ...  it  seems  to  me 
that  you  are  entitled  to  mention. 

JULIA.  Why,  nonsense!  ...  the  giri  was  simply 
thrown  into  my  arms. 

LAURA.  Most  people  would  have  managed  to  step  out 
of  the  way,  just  the  same.  You've  heard  the  story,  have 
you,  Mr.  Montague? 

MONTAGUE.  Bullen  has  told  it  to  me.  You  haven't 
been  able  to  get  any  justice? 

JACK.    From  the  police  ?    Hardly !     But  we're  keeping 


ACT  i]  THE  MACHINE  85 

at  it,  to  make  the  story  complete.  I  went  to  see  Captain 
Quinn  to-day.  "What's  this?"  says  he.  "Annie  Rogers 
again?  Didn't  your  lady  frien'  get  her  pitcher  in  the 
papers  over  that  case?  An'  what  more  does  she  want?" 

JULIA.  I  went  this  afternoon  to  see  the  Tammany 
leader  of  our  district  .  .  . 

MONTAGUE.    Leary? 

JULIA.  The  same.  I  went  straight  into  his  saloon. 
"Lady,"  says  he,  "the  goil's  nutty !  You  got  a  bughouse 
patient  on  your  hands !  This  here  talk  about  the  white- 
slave  traffic,  ma'am  .  .  .  it's  all  the  work  o'  these  maga 
zine  muckrakers!"  "Meaning  myself,  Mr.  Leary?"  said 
I,  and  he  looked  kind  of  puzzled.  I  don't  think  he  knew 
who  I  was. 

MONTAGUE.  All  the  work  of  the  muckrakers !  I  see 
Boss  Grimes  is  out  to  that  effect  also. 

JACK.  And  I  see  that  half  a  dozen  clergymen  sat  down 
to  a  public  banquet  with  him  the  other  day.  That's  what 
we've  come  to  in  New  York !  Bob  Grimes,  with  his 
hands  on  every  string  of  the  whole  infamous  system 
.  .  .  with  his  paws  in  every  filthy  graft-pot  in  the  city ! 
Bob  Grimes,  the  type  and  symbol  of  it  all !  Every  time  I 
see  a  picture  of  that  bulldog  face,  it  seems  to  me  as  if 
I  were  confronting  all  the  horrors  that  I've  ever  fought 
in  my  life ! 

JULIA.  It's  curious  to  note  how  much  less  denuncia 
tion  of  Tammany  one  hears  now  than  in  the  old  days. 

MONTAGUE.    Tammany's  getting  respectable. 

JACK.  The  big  interests  have  found  out  how  to  use  it. 
The  traction  gang,  especially  .  .  . 

He  stops  abruptly;  a  tense  pause. 

LAURA.  [Leaning  toward  him,  with  great  earnestness.'] 
Mr.  Bullen,  is  that  really  true? 

JACK.    That  is  true,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.    Mr.  Bullen,  you  will  understand  what  it  means 


86  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  i 

to  me  to  hear  that  statement  made.  I  hear  it  made  con 
tinually,  and  I  ask  if  it  is  true,  and  I  am  told  that  it  is 
a  slander.  How  am  I  to  know?  [A  pause.]  Would  you 
be  able  to  tell  me  that  you  know  it  of  your  own  personal 
knowledge  ? 

JACK.  [Weighing  the  words.]  No;  I  could  not  say 
that. 

LAURA.  Would  you  say  that  you  could  prove  it  to  a 
jury? 

JACK.  I  would  say,  that  if  I  had  to  prove  it,  I  could 
get  the  evidence. 

LAURA.    What  would  you  say,  Mr.  Montague? 

MONTAGUE.     I  would  rather  not  say,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.    Please !    Please  !    I  want  you  to  answer  me. 

MONTAGUE.  [After  a  pause.]  I  would  say  that  I  shall 
be  able  to  prove  it  very  shortly. 

LAURA.    How  do  you  mean? 

MONTAGUE.  I  have  been  giving  most  of  my  time  to 
a  study  of  just  that  question,  and  I  think  that  I  shall 
have  the  evidence. 

LAURA.    I  see. 

She  sinks  back,  very  white;  a  pause;  the  bell  rings. 

JULIA.    Who  can  that  be? 

JACK.  [Springing  up.]  Let  me  answer  it.  [Presses 
button;  then,  to  MONTAGUE.]  I  had  no  idea  you  were 
going  in  for  that,  old  man. 

MONTAGUE.  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  men 
tioned  it  to  any  one. 

JULIA.  [Rising,  hoping  to  relieve  an  embarrassing 
situation.']  I  hope  this  isn't  any  more  company. 

JACK.  [To  MONTAGUE,  aside.]  You  must  let  me  tell 
you  a  few  things  that  I  know.  I've  been  running  down 
a  little  story  about  Grimes  and  the  traction  crowd. 

MONTAGUE.    Indeed!    What  is  it? 

JACK.     I  can't  tell  it  to  you  now  ...  it  would  take 


4CT  i]  THE  MACHINE  87 

too  long.  But,  gee!  If  I  can  get  the  evidence,  it'll  make 
your  hair  stand  on  end!  It  has  to  do  with  the  Grand 
Avenue  Railroad  suit. 

MONTAGUE.  The  one  that's  pending  in  the  Court  of 
Appeals? 

JACK.  Yes.  You  see,  Jim  Hegan  stands  to  lose  a  for 
tune  by  it,  and  I've  reason  to  believe  that  there's  some 
monkey-work  being  done  with  the  Court.  It  happens 
that  one  of  the  judges  has  a  nephew  ...  a  dissipated 
chap,  who  hates  him.  He's  an  old  college  friend  of  mine, 
and  he's  trying  to  get  some  evidence  for  me. 

MONTAGUE.    Good  Lord ! 

JACK.     And  think,  it  concerns  Jim  Hegan  personally. 
A  knock  at  the  door. 

JULIA.    I'll  go. 

Opens  the  door. 

HEGAN.  {Without.']  Good  evening.  Is  Miss  Hegan 
here? 

LAURA.     [Standing  up.]     Father! 

JULIA.    Won't  you  come  in? 

HEGAN.  Thank  you.  [Enters;  a  tall,  powerfully  built 
man,  with  a  square  jaw,  wide,  over-arching  eyebrows,  and 
keen  eyes  that  peer  at  one;  a  prominent  nose,  the 
aspect  of  the  predatory  eagle;  a  man  accustomed  to  let 
other  people  talk  and  to  read  their  thoughts.]  Why,  Mr. 
Montague,  you  here? 

MONTAGUE.    Mr.  Hegan!    Why,  how  do  you  do? 

LAURA.  We  stumbled  on  each  other  by  chance.  Father, 
this  is  Miss  Patterson. 

HEGAN.  I  am  very  pleased  to  meet  you,  Miss  Patter 
son. 

JULIA.    How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Hegan? 
They  shake  hands. 

LAURA.    And  Mr.  Bullen. 


88  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  i 

BULLEN.  [Remaining  where  he  is;  stiffly.]  Good  eve 
ning,  Mr.  Hegan. 

HEGAN.  Good  evening,  sir.  [Turns  to  LAURA.]  My 
dear,  I  finished  up  downtown  sooner  than  I  expected, 
and  I  have  another  conference  at  the  house.  I  stopped 
off  to  see  if  you  cared  to  come  now,  or  if  I  should  send 
back  the  car  for  you. 

LAURA.     I  think  you'd  best  send  it  back. 

JULIA.    Why,  yes  .   .   .  she  only  just  got  here. 

HEGAN.     Very  well. 

JULIA.    Won't  you  stop  a  minute? 

HEGAN.  No.  I  really  can't.  Mr.  Grimes  is  waiting 
for  me  downstairs. 

LAURA.     [Involuntarily.']    Mr.  Grimes ! 

HEGAN.    Yes. 

LAURA.    Robert  Grimes? 

HEGAN.     [Surprised.]     Yes.    Why? 

LAURA.  Nothing;  only  we  happened  to  be  just  talking 
about  him. 

HEGAN.    I  see. 

JACK.  [Aggressively.]  We  happen  to  have  one  of 
his  victims  in  the  next  room. 

HEGAN.     [Perplexed]     One  of  his  victims? 

JULIA.     [Protesting]     Jack ! 

JACK.  A  daughter  of  the  slums.  One  of  the  helpless 
girls  who  have  to  pay  the  tribute  that  he  . 

A  piercing  and  terrifying  scream  is  heard  off  right. 

JULIA.    Annie ! 
Runs  off. 

HEGAN.    What's  that? 

The  screams  continue. 

JULIA.     [Off.]    Help!    Help! 

Jack,  who  is  nearest,  leaps  toward  the  door;  but, 
before  he  can  reach  it,  it  is  flung  violently  open. 

ANNIE.     [Enters,  delirious,  her  bare  arms  and  throat 


ACT  i]  THE  MACHINE  89 

covered  with  bruises,  her  hair  loose,  and  her  aspect  wild; 
an  Irish  peasant  girl,  aged  twenty.]  No!  No!  Let 
me  go ! 

Rushes   into   the   opposite   corner,   and   cowers  in 
terror. 

JULIA.     [Following  her.']     Annie!    Annie! 

ANNIE.     [Flings  her  off,  and  stretches  out  her  arms.] 
What  do  you  want  with  me?    Help!     Help!     I  won't  do 
it !    I  won't  stay  !    Let  me  alone  ! 
Wild  and  frantic  sobbing. 

JULIA.  Annie,  dear!  Annie!  Look  at  me!  Don't 
you  know  me?  I'm  Julia!  Your  own  Julia!  No  one 
shall  hurt  you  ...  no  one ! 

ANNIE.  [Stares  at  her  ivildly.]  He's  after  me  still! 
He'll  follow  me  here !  He  won't  let  me  get  away  from 
him  !  Oh,  save  me  ! 

JULIA.  [Embracing  her.]  Listen  to  me,  dear.  Don't 
think  of  things  like  that.  You  are  in  my  home  .  .  . 
nothing  can  hurt  vou.  Don't  let  these  evil  dreams  take 
hold  of  you. 

ANNIE.  [Stares,  as  if  coming  out  of  a  trance.]  Why 
didn't  you  help  me  before? 

JULIA.    Come,  dear  .   .   .  come. 

ANNIE.  It's  too  late  ...  too  late!  Oh  ...  I  can't 
forget  about  it ! 

JULIA.     Yes,  dear.     I  know  .  .  . 

ANNIE.     [Seeing  the  others.]     Who?  .   .   . 

JULIA.  They  are  all  friends;  they  will  help  you.  Come, 
dear  ...  lie  down  again. 

ANNIE.    Oh,  what  shall  I  do? 
Is  led  off,  sobbing. 

JULIA.    It  will  be  all  right,  dear. 
Exit;  a  pause. 

HEGAN.    What  does  this  mean? 


90  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  i 

JACK.     [Promptly  and  ruthlessly.']     It  means  that  you 
have  been  seeing  the  white-slave  traffic  in  action. 
HEGAN.     I  don't  understand. 

JACK.  [Quietly,  but  with  suppressed  passion."]  Tens 
of  thousands  of  girl  slaves  are  needed  for  the  markets 
of  our  great  cities  .  .  .  for  the  lumber  camps  of  the 
North,  the  mining  camps  of  the  West,  the  ditches  of 
Panama.  And  every  four  or  five  years  the  supply  must 
be  renewed,  and  so  the  business  of  gathering  these  girl- 
slaves  from  our  slums  is  one  of  the  great  industries  of 
the  city.  This  girl,  Annie  Rogers,  a  decent  girl  from 
the  North  of  Ireland,  was  lured  into  a  dance  hall  and 
drugged,  and  then  taken  to  a  brothel  and  locked  in  a 
third-story  room.  They  took  her  clothing  away  from 
her,  but  she  broke  down  her  door  at  night  and  fled  to 
the  street  in  her  wrapper  and  flung  herself  into  Miss 
Patterson's  arms.  Two  men  were  pursuing  her  .  .  . 
they  tried  to  carry  her  off.  Miss  Patterson  called  a 
policeman  .  .  .  but  he  said  the  girl  was  insane.  Only 
by  making  a  disturbance  and  drawing  a  crowd  was  my 
friend  able  to  save  her.  And  now,  we  have  been  the 
rounds  .  .  .  from  the  sergeant  at  the  station,  and  the 
police  captain,  to  the  Chief  of  Police  and  the  Mayor  him 
self;  we  have  been  to  the  Tammany  leader  of  the  dis 
trict  ...  the  real  boss  of  the  neighborhood  .  .  .  and 
there  is  no  justice  to  be  had  anywhere  for  Annie  Rogers ! 
HEGAN.  Impossible ! 

JACK.  You  have  my  word  for  it,  sir.  And  the  reason 
for  it  is  that  this  hideous  traffic  is  one  of  the  main  cogs 
in  our  political  machine.  The  pimps  and  the  panders, 
the  cadets  and  maquereaux  .  .  .  they  vote  the  ticket 
of  the  organization;  they  contribute  to  the  campaign 
funds ;  they  serve  as  colonizers  and  repeaters  at  the  polls. 
The  tribute  that  they  pay  amounts  to  millions;  and  it  is 
shared  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest  in  the  organiza- 


ACT  i]  THE  MACHINE  91 

tion  .  .  .  from  the  ward  man  on  the  street  and  the  police 
captain,  up  to  the  inner  circle  of  the  chiefs  of  Tammany 
Hall  .  .  .  yes,  even  to  your  friend,  Mr.  Robert  Grimes, 
himself!  A  thousand  times,  sir,  has  the  truth  about  this 
monstrous  infamy  been  put  before  the  people  of  your 
city;  and  that  they  have  not  long  ago  risen  in  their 
wrath  and  driven  its  agents  from  their  midst  is  due  to 
but  one  single  fact  .  .  .  that  this  infamous  organization 
of  crime  and  graft  is  backed  at  each  election  time  by 
the  millions  of  the  great  public  service  corporations.  It 
is  they  .  .  . 

MONTAGUE.     [Interfering.]     Bullen ! 

JACK.  Let  me  go  on !  It  is  they,  sir,  who  finance  the 
thugs  and  repeaters  who  desecrate  our  polls.  It  is  they 
who  suborn  our  press  and  blind  the  eyes  of  our  people. 
It  is  they  who  are  responsible  for  this  traffic  in  the  flesh 
of  our  women.  It  is  they  who  have  to  answer  for  the 
tottering  reason  of  that  poor  peasant  girl  in  the  next 
room ! 

LAURA.  [Has  been  listening  to  this  speech,  white  with 
horror;  as  the  indictment  proceeds,  she  covers  her  face 
K'ith  her  hands;  at  this  point  she  breaks  into  uncon 
trollable  ivccping.~]  Oh  !  I  can't  stand  it ! 

HEGAN.     [Springing  to  her  side.]    My  dear ! 

LAURA.     [Clasping  him.]     Father!    Father! 

HEGAN.  My  child!  I  have  begged  you  not  to  come 
to  these  places  !  Why  should  you  see  such  things  ? 

LAURA.  [Wildly.]  Why  should  I  not  see  them,  so 
long  as  they  exist? 

HEGAN.  [Angrily. ~\  I  won't  have  it.  This  is  the  end 
of  it !  I  mean  what  I  say !  Come  home  with  me !  .  .  . 
Come  home  at  once  ! 

LAURA.     With  Grimes?    I  won't  meet  that  man! 

HEGAN.  Very  well,  then.  You  need  not  meet  him.  I'll 
call  a  cab,  and  take  you  myself.  Where  are  your  things? 


92  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  i 

LAURA.     [Looking  to  the  left.']     In  that  room. 

HEGAN.     Come,  then. 
Takes  her  off. 

JACK.  [Turns  to  MONTAGUE,  and  to  JULIA,  who  ap 
pears  in  doorway  at  right.]  We  gave  it  to  them  straight 
that  time,  all  right! 

CURTAIN 


ACT  n]  THE  MACHINE  <):* 


ACT   II 

Library  of  "The  Towers,"  HEGAN'S  Long  Island  country 
place.  A  spacious  room,  furnished  luxuriously,  but 
with  good  taste.  A  large  table,  with  lamp  and  books 
in  the  centre,  and  easy-chairs  beside  it.  Up  stage 
are  French  windoivs  leading  to  a  veranda,  with 
drive  below;  a  writing  desk  between  the  windows. 
Entrance  right  and  left.  A  telephone  stand  left, 
and  a  clock  on  wall  right. 

At  rise:  ANDREWS,  standing  by  the  table,  opening  some 
letters. 

LAURA.  [Enters  from  veranda.]  Good  afternoon,  Mr. 
Andrews. 

ANDREWS.     Good  afternoon,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.    Has  father  come  yet? 

ANDREWS.    No;  he  said  he'd  be  back  about  five. 

LAURA.    Is  he  surely  coming? 

ANDREWS.  Oh,  yes.  He  has  an  important  engagement 
here. 

LAURA.    He's  working  very  hard  these  days. 

ANDREWS.    He  has  a  good  deal  on  his  mind  just  now. 

LAURA.    It's  this  Grand  Avenue  Railroad  business. 

ANDREWS.  Yes.  If  it  should  go  against  him,  it  would 
confuse  his  plans  very  much. 

LAURA.    Is  the  matter  never  going  to  be  decided? 

ANDREWS.  We're  expecting  the  decision  any  day  now. 
That's  why  he's  so  much  concerned.  He  has  to  hold  the 
market,  you  see  .  .  . 


94  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  n 

LAURA.    The  decision's  liable  to  affect  the  market? 

ANDREWS.    Oh,  yes  .   .   .  very  much,  indeed. 

LAURA.    I  see.    And  then  .   .   . 
'Phone  rings. 

ANDREWS.  Excuse  me.  Hello !  Yes,  this  is  Mr.  Hegan's 
place.  Mr.  Montague?  Why,  yes;  I  believe  he's  to  be 
here  this  afternoon.  Yes  .  .  .  wait  a  moment  .  .  .  [To 
LAURA.]  It's  some  one  asking  for  Mr.  Montague. 

LAURA.    Who  is  it? 

ANDREWS.  Hello!  Who  is  this,  please?  [To  LAURA.] 
It's  Mr.  Bullen. 

LAURA.  Mr.  Bullen?  I'll  speak  to  him.  [Takes 
'phone.']  Hello,  Mr.  Bullen !  This  is  Miss  Hegan.  I'm 
glad  to  hear  from  you.  How  are  you?  Why,  yes,  Mr, 
Montague  is  coming  out  ...  I  expect  him  here  any 
time.  He  was  to  take  the  three-five  .  .  .  just  a  moment. 
[Looks  at  clock.'}  If  the  train's  on  time,  he's  due  here 
now.  We  sent  to  meet  him.  Call  up  again  in  about  five 
minutes.  Oh,  you  have  to  see  him?  As  soon  as  that? 
Nothing  wrong,  I  hope.  Well,  he  couldn't  get  back  to 
the  city  until  after  six.  Oh,  then  you're  right  near  us. 
Why  don't  you  come  over  ?  .  .  .  That's  the  quickest  way. 
No;  take  the  trolley  and  come  right  across.  I'll  be  de 
lighted  to  see  you.  What's  that?  Why,  Mr.  Bullen! 
How  perfectly  preposterous !  My  father  doesn't  blame 
you  for  what  happened.  Don't  think  of  it.  Come  right 
along.  I'll  take  it  ill  of  you  if  you  don't  .  .  .  truly  I 
will.  Yes;  please  do.  You'll  just  have  time  to  get  the 
next  trolley.  Get  off  at  the  Merrick  road,  and  I'll  see 
there's  an  auto  there  to  meet  you.  Very  well.  Good-bye. 
[To  ANDREWS.]  Mr.  Andrews,  will  you  see  there's  a  car 
sent  down  to  the  trolley  to  meet  Mr.  Bullen  ? 
ANDREWS.  All  right. 

Exit. 
LAURA.      [Stands   by   table,   in   deep   thought,   takes  a 


ACT  n]  THE  MACHINE  Or, 

note  from  table  and  studies  it;  shakes  her  head.]  He 
didn't  want  to  come.  He  doesn't  want  to  talk  to  me.  But 
he  must!  Ah,  there  he  is.  [Sound  of  a  motor  heard. 
She  icaits,  then  goes  to  the  window.']  Ah,  Mr.  Mon 
tague  ! 

MONTAGUE.  [Enters  centre.']  Good  afternoon,  Miss 
Hegan. 

LAURA.    You  managed  to  catch  the  train,  I  see. 

MONTAGUE.    Yes.    I  just  did. 

LAURA.    It  is  so  good  of  you  to  come. 

MONTAGUE.    Not  at  all.    I  am  glad  to  be  here. 

LAURA.    I  just  had  a  telephone  call  from  Mr.  Bullen. 

MONTAGUE.     [Starting."]     From  Bullen? 

LAURA.  Yes.  He  said  he  had  to  see  you  about  some 
thing. 

MONTAGUE.     [Eagerly.']     Where  was  he? 

LAURA.  He  was  at  his  brother's  place.  I  told  him  to 
come  here. 

MONTAGUE.    Oh!    Ishecoming? 

LAURA.    Yes;  he'll  be  here  soon. 

MONTAGUE.     Thank  you   very  much. 

LAURA.    He  said  it  was  something  quite  urgent. 

MONTAGUE.  Yes.  He  has  some  important  papers  for 
me. 

LAURA.  I  see  he  made  a  speech  last  night  that  stirred 
up  the  press. 

MONTAGUE.     [Smiling.]    Yes. 

LAURA.    He  is  surely  a  tireless  fighter. 

MONTAGUE.  It's  such  men  as  Bullen  who  keep  the 
world  moving. 

LAURA.    And  do  you  agree  with  him,  Mr.  Montague? 

MONTAGUE.     In  what  way? 

LAURA.    That  the  end  of  it  all  is  to  be  a  revolution. 

MONTAGUE.  I  don't  know,  Miss  Hegan.  I  find  I  am 
moving  that  way.  I  used  to  think  we  could  control  capi- 


96  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  IT 

tal.  Now  I  am  beginning  to  suspect  that  it  is  in  the  nature 
of  capital  to  have  its  way,  and  that  if  the  people  wish  to 
rule  they  must  own  the  capital. 

LAURA.  [After  a  pause.]  Mr.  Montague,  I  had  to  ask 
you  to  come  out  and  see  me,  because  I'd  promised  my 
father  I  would  not  go  into  the  city  again  for  a  while. 
I've  not  been  altogether  well  since  that  evening  at  Julia's. 

MONTAGUE.    I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.  It's  nothing,  but  it  worries  my  father,  you 
know.  [A  pause.']  I  thought  we  should  be  alone  this 
afternoon,  but  I  find  that  my  father  is  coming  out  .  .  . 
and  Mr.  Bullen  is  coming  also.  So  I  mayn't  have  time 
to  say  all  I  wished  to  say  to  you.  But  I  must  thank  you 
for  coming. 

MONTAGUE.    I  was  very  glad  to  come,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.  I  can  appreciate  your  embarrassment  at  being 
asked  to  ... 

MONTAGUE.      No  ! 

LAURA.  We  must  deal  frankly  with  each  other.  I 
know  that  you  did  not  want  to  come.  I  know  that  you 
have  tried  to  put  an  end  to  our  friendship. 

MONTAGUE.  [Hesitates.]  Miss  Hegan,  let  me  explain 
my  position. 

LAURA.  I  think  I  understand  it  already.  You  have 
found  evil  conditions  which  you  wish  to  oppose,  and  you 
were  afraid  that  our  friendship  might  stand  in  the  way. 

MONTAGUE.  [In  a  low  voice.]  Miss  Hegan,  I  came  to 
New  York  an  entire  stranger  two  years  ago,  and  my 
brother  introduced  me  to  his  rich  friends.  By  one  of 
them  I  was  asked  to  take  charge  of  a  law  case.  It  was 
a  case  of  very  great  importance,  which  served  to  give 
me  an  opening  into  the  inner  life  of  the  city.  I  discov 
ered  that,  in  their  blind  struggle  for  power,  our  great 
capitalists  had  lost  all  sense  of  the  difference  between 
honesty  and  crime.  I  found  that  trust  funds  were  being 


ACT  ii  ]  THE  MACHINE  97 

abused  .  .  .  that  courts  and  legislatures  were  being  cor 
rupted  .  .  .  the  very  financial  stability  of  the  country 
was  being  wrecked.  The  thing  shocked  me  to  the  bot 
tom  of  my  soul,  and  I  set  to  work  to  give  the  public  some 
light  on  the  situation.  Then,  what  happened,  Miss  Hegan  ? 
My  newly  made  rich  friends  cut  me  dead;  they  began  to 
circulate  vile  slanders  about  me  .  .  .  they  insulted  me 
openly,  on  more  than  one  occasion.  So,  don't  you  see? 

LAURA.  Yes,  I  see.  But  could  you  not  have  trusted  a 
friendship  such  as  ours? 

MONTAGUE.    I  did  not  dare. 

LAURA.  You  saw  that  you  had  to  fight  my  father,  and 
you  thought  that  I  would  blindly  take  his  side. 

MONTAGUE.  [Hesitating.']  I  ...  I  couldn't  sup 
pose  .  .  . 

LAURA.  Listen.  You  have  told  me  your  situation; 
now,  imagine  mine.  Imagine  a  girl  brought  up  in  lux 
ury,  with  a  father  whom  she  loves  very  dearly,  and  who 
loves  her  more  than  any  one  else  in  the  world.  Every 
thing  is  done  to  make  her  happy  ...  to  keep  her  con 
tented  and  peaceful.  But  as  she  grows  up,  she  reads  and 
listens  .  .  .  and,  little  by  little,  it  dawns  upon  her  that 
her  father  is  one  of  the  leaders  in  this  terrible  struggle 
that  you  have  spoken  of.  She  hears  about  wrongdoing; 
she  is  told  that  her  father's  enemies  have  slandered  him. 
At  first,  perhaps,  she  believes  that.  But  time  goes  on 
.  .  .  she  sees  suffering  and  oppression  .  .  .  she  begins 
to  realize  a  little  of  cause  and  effect.  She  wants  to  help, 
she  wants  to  do  right,  but  there  is  no  way  for  her  to 
know.  She  goes  to  one  person  after  another,  and  no 
one  will  deal  frankly  with  her.  No  one  will  tell  her  the 
truth  .  .  .  absolutely  no  one !  [Leaning  forward  with  in 
tensity.']  No  one  !  No  one ! 

MONTAGUE.      I  SCC. 

LAURA.    So  it  was  with  you  .   .   .  and  with  our  friend- 


98  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  n 

ship.  I  knew  that  you  had  broken  it  off  for  such  reasons. 
I  knew  that  there  was  nothing  personal  ...  it  was  noth 
ing  that  I  had  done  .  .  . 

MONTAGUE.    No  !     Surely  not ! 

LAURA.  [Gases  about  nervously.]  And  then  .  .  . 
the  other  night  .  .  .  you  told  me  you  were  investigating 
the  traction  companies  of  New  York  .  .  .  their  connec 
tion  with  politics,  and  so  on.  Ever  since  then  I  have  felt 
that  you  were  the  one  person  I  must  talk  with.  Don't 
you  see? 

MONTAGUE.      YeS  ;   I   SCC. 

LAURA.  I  have  sought  for  some  one  who  will  tell  me 
the  truth.  Will  you  ? 

MONTAGUE.  \In  a  low  voice.'}  You  must  realize  what 
you  are  asking  of  me,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.  I  have  not  brought  you  here  without  realizing 
that.  You  must  help  me  ! 

MONTAGUE.    Very  well.     I  will  do  what  I  can. 

LAURA.  [Leaning  forward.']  I  wish  to  know  about 
my  father.  I  wish  to  know  to  what  extent  he  is  involved 
in  these  evils  that  you  speak  of. 

MONTAGUE.  Your  father  is  in  the  game,  and  he  has 
played  it  the  way  the  game  is  played. 

LAURA.    Has  he  been  better  than  the  others,  or  worse? 

MONTAGUE.    About  the  same,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.    He  has  been  more  successful  than  they. 

MONTAGUE.    He  has  been  very  successful. 

LAURA.  You  were  concerned  in  some  important  deal 
with  my  father,  were  you  not  ? 

MONTAGUE.      I   was. 

LAURA.  Then  you  withdrew.  Was  that  because  there 
was  something  wrong  in  it? 

MONTAGUE.    It  was,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.    There  were  corrupt  things  done? 


ACT  n]  THE  MACHINE  99 

MONTAGUE.  There  were  many  kinds  of  corrupt  things 
done. 

LAURA.    And  was  my  father  responsible  for  them? 

MONTAGUE.      YeS. 

LAURA.    Directly? 

MONTAGUE.      YeS  J   dlTCCtly. 

LAURA.    Then  my  father  is  a  bad  man  ? 

MONTAGUE.  [After  a  paused]  Your  father  finds  him 
self  in  the  midst  of  an  evil  system.  He  is  the  victim  of 
conditions  which  he  did  not  create. 

LAURA.    Ah,  now  you  are  trying  to  spare  me ! 

MONTAGUE.  No.  I  should  say  that  to  any  one.  I  am 
at  war  with  the  system  .  .  .  not  with  individuals.  It  is 
the  old  story  of  hating  the  sin  and  loving  the  sinner. 
Your  father's  rivals  are  just  as  reckless  as  he  ... 
take  Murdock,  for  instance,  the  man  who  is  behind  this 
Grand  Avenue  Railroad  matter.  It  is  hard  for  a  woman 
to  understand  that  situation. 

LAURA.  I  can  understand  some  things  very  clearly.  I 
go  down  into  the  slums  and  I  see  all  that  welter  of  misery. 
I  see  the  forces  of  evil  that  exist  there,  defiant  and  hate 
ful  ...  the  saloons  and  the  gambling-houses,  and  that 
ghastly  white-slave  traffic,  of  which  Annie  Rogers  is  the 
victim.  And  there  is  the  political  organization,  taking 
its  toll  from  all  these,  and  using  it  to  keep  itself  in  power. 
And  there  is  Boss  Grimes,  who  is  at  the  head  of  all  ... 
and  he  is  one  of  my  father's  intimate  associates.  I  ask 
about  it,  and  I  am  told  that  it  is  a  matter  of  "business." 
But  why  should  my  father  do  business  with  a  man 
whose  chief  source  of  income  is  vice? 

MONTAGUE.    That  is  not  quite  the  case,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.    Doesn't  the  vice  tribute  go  to  him? 

MONTAGUE.  Part  of  it  does,  I  have  no  doubt.  But  it 
would  be  a  very  small  part  of  his  income. 

LAURA.    What  then? 


100  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  11 

MONTAGUE.  The  vice  graft  serves  for  the  police  and 
the  district  leaders  and  the  little  men;  what  really  pays 
nowadays  is  what  has  come  to  be  called  "honest  graft." 

LAURA.    What  is  that? 

MONTAGUE.  The  business  deals  that  are  made  with  the 
public  service  corporations. 

LAURA.    Ah !     That  is  what  I  wish  to  know  about ! 

MONTAGUE.  For  instance,  I  am  running  a  street  rail 
way  .  .  . 

LAURA.     [Quickly.]    My  father  is  running  them  all ! 

MONTAGUE.  Very  well.  Your  father  is  in  alliance  with 
the  organization;  he  is  given  franchises  and  public  privi 
leges  for  practically  nothing;  and  in  return  he  gives  the 
contracts  for  constructing  the  subways  and  street-car 
lines  to  companies  organized  by  the  politicians.  These 
companies  are  simply  paper  companies  .  .  .  they  farm 
out  the  contracts  to  the  real  builders,  skimming  off  a 
profit  of  twenty  or  thirty  per  cent.  One  of  these  com 
panies  received  contracts  last  year  to  the  value  of  thirty 
million  dollars. 

LAURA.    And  so  that  is  how  Grimes  gets  his  money? 

MONTAGUE.  Grimes'  brother  is  the  president  of  the 
company  I  have  reference  to. 

LAURA.    I  see;  it  is  a  regular  system. 

MONTAGUE.  It  is  a  business,  and  there  is  no  way  to 
punish  it  ...  it  does  not  violate  any  law  .  .  . 

LAURA.    And  yet  it  is  quite  as  bad ! 

MONTAGUE.  It  is  far  worse,  because  of  its  vast  scope. 
It  carries  every  form  of  corruption  in  its  train.  It  means 
the  prostitution  of  our  whole  system  of  government  .  .  . 
the  subsidizing  of  our  newspapers,  and  of  the  great  politi 
cal  parties.  It  means  that  judges  are  chosen  who  will 
decide  in  favor  of  the  corporations;  that  legislators  are 
nominated  who  will  protect  them  against  attack.  It  means 


ACT  n]  THE  MACHINE  101 

everywhere  the  enthronement  of  ignorance  and  incom 
petence,  of  injustice  and  fraud. 

LAURA.    And  in  the  end  the  public  pays  for  it? 

MONTAGUE.  In  the  end  the  public  pays  for  everything. 
The  stolen  franchises  are  unloaded  on  the  market  for  ten 
times  what  they  cost,  and  the  people  pay  their  nickels 
for  a  wretched,  broken-down  service.  They  pay  for  it 
in  the  form  of  rent  and  taxes  for  a  dishonest  administra 
tion.  Every  struggling  unfortunate  in  the  city  pays  for 
it,  when  he  comes  into  contact  with  the  system  .  .  . 
when  he  seeks  for  help,  or  even  for  justice.  It  was  that 
side  of  it  that  shocked  me  most  of  all  ...  I  being  a 
lawyer,  you  see.  The  corrupting  of  our  courts  .  .  . 

LAURA.    The  judges  are  bought,  Mr.  Montague? 

MONTAGUE.    The  judges  are  selected,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.    Selected!    I  see. 

MONTAGUE.  And  that  system  prevails  from  the  Su 
preme  Court  of  the  State  down  to  the  petty  Police  Mag 
istrates,  before  whom  the  poor  come  to  plead. 

LAURA.  And  that  is  why  the  white-slave  traffic  goes 
unpunished ! 

MONTAGUE.    That  is  why. 

LAURA.  And  why  no  one  would  move  a  hand  for  Annie 
Rogers ! 

MONTAGUE.     That  is  why. 

LAURA.    And  my  father  is  responsible  for  it ! 

MONTAGUE.  [Gravely.]  Yes;  I  think  he  is,  Miss 
Hegan. 

A  pause. 

LAURA.    Have  you  seen  Julia  Patterson  lately? 

MONTAGUE.    I  saw  her  last  night. 

LAURA.    And  how  is  Annie? 

MONTAGUE.    She  .   .   .  [Hesitates.]     She  is  dead. 

LAURA.     [Starting.]     Oh ! 

MONTAGUE.    She  died  the  night  before  last. 


102  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  n 

LAURA.  [Stares  at  him,  then  gives  a  wild  start,  and 
cries']  She  .  .  .  she  .  .  . 

MONTAGUE.    She  killed  herself. 

LAURA.    Oh ! 

MONTAGUE.    She  cut  her  throat. 

LAURA.  [Hides  her  face  and  sinks  against  the  table, 
shuddering  and  overcome.']  Oh,  the  poor  girl !  The 
poor,  poor  girl !  [Suddenly  she  springs  up.]  Can't  you 
see?  Can't  you  see?  It  is  things  like  that  that  are  driv 
ing  me  to  distraction ! 

MONTAGUE.     [Starting  toward  her.]    Miss  Hegan  .   .   . 

LAURA.     [Covering  her  face  again.]     Oh !  oh !     It  is 
horrible  !    I  can't  stand  it !    I  ... 
Sound  of  motor  heard;  they  listen. 

LAURA.  That  is  my  father's  car  .  .  .  Mr.  Montague, 
will  you  excuse  me?  I  must  have  a  talk  with  my 
father  .  .  . 

MONTAGUE.    Certainly.    Let  me  go  away  .  .  . 

LAURA.  No;  please  wait.  Just  take  a  little  stroll. 
I  ... 

MONTAGUE.     Certainly,  I  understand. 
Exit  right. 

LAURA.  [Seeks  to  compose  herself;  then  goes  to  win 
dow.]  Father ! 

HEGAN.     [Off.]     Yes,  dear. 

LAURA.    Come  here. 

HEGAN.    [Enters.]    What  is  it? 

LAURA.    Father,  I  have  just  had  dreadful  news  .  . 

HEGAN.    What  ? 

LAURA.  Annie  Rogers  .  .  .  that  poor  girl,  you 
know  .  .  . 

HEGAN.     YeS. 

LAURA.    She  has  killed  herself. 

HEGAN.      No  ! 

LAURA.    She  cut  her  own  throat 


ACT  n]  THE  MACHINE  103 

IIEGAN.  Oh,  my  dear !  [Starts  toward  her.']  I  am  so 
sorry  .  .  . 

LAURA.  [Quickly.]  No,  father !  Listen !  You  must 
talk  to  me  ...  you  must  talk  to  me  this  time ! 

IIEGAN.    My  child  .   .   . 

LAURA.  You  cannot  put  me  off.  You  cannot,  I  tell 
you! 

HEGAN.    Laura,  dear,  you  are  upset  .  .  . 

LAURA.  No !  That  is  not  so !  I  have  perfect  control 
of  myself.  There  is  no  use  crying  .  .  .  the  girl  is  dead. 
That  can't  be  helped.  But  I  mean  to  understand  about 
it.  I  mean  to  know  who  is  responsible  for  her  death. 

HEGAN.    My  dear,  these  evils  are  hard  to  know  of  ... 

LAURA.  That  house  to  which  that  girl  was  taken  .  .  . 
there  is  a  law  against  such  places,  is  there  not? 

HEGAN.    Yes,  my  dear. 

LAURA.    And  why  is  not  the  law  enforced? 

HEGAN.  It  has  not  been  found  possible  to  enforce  such 
laws. 

LAURA.     But  why  not? 

HEGAN.    Why,  my  dear,  this  evil  .   .  . 

LAURA.  These  people  pay  money  to  the  police,  do  they 
not? 

HEGAN.    Why,  yes ;  I  imagine  .  .  . 

LAURA.  Don't  tell  me  what  you  imagine  .  .  .  tell  me 
what  you  know !  They  pay  money  to  the  police,  don't 
they? 

HEGAN.     Yes. 

LAURA.  Then  why  should  the  police  not  be  punished? 
Do  those  who  control  the  police  get  some  of  the  money? 

HEGAN.     Some  of  them,  my  dear. 

LAURA.    That  is,  the  leaders  of  Tammany. 

HEGAN.    Possibly  .   .   .  yes. 

LAURA.    And  Mr.  Grimes  ...  he  gets  some  of  it? 

HEGAN.    Why,  my  dear  .  .  , 


104  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  n 

LAURA.    Tell  me ! 

HEGAN.  But  really,  Laura,  I  never  asked  him  what  he 
gets. 

LAURA.  [With  intensity.']  Father,  you  must  under 
stand  me !  I  will  not  be  trifled  with  ...  I  am  in  des 
perate  earnest !  I  am  determined  to  get  to  the  bottom 
of  this  thing!  I  am  no  longer  a  child,  and  you  must  not 
try  to  deceive  me !  Mr.  Grimes  must  get  some  of  that 
money ! 

HEGAN.    I  think  it  possible,  my  dear. 

LAURA.    And  do  you  get  any? 

HEGAN.    Good  God,  Laura ! 

LAURA.  Then  what  is  the  nature  of  your  relationship 
with  Grimes? 

HEGAN.  Really,  my  child,  this  is  not  fair  of  you.  I 
have  business  connections  which  you  cannot  possibly 
understand  .  .  . 

LAURA.  I  can  understand  everything  that  you  are  will 
ing  for  me  to  understand !  I  want  to  know  why  you  must 
have  business  connections  with  a  man  like  Boss  Grimes. 

HEGAN.  My  dear,  I  think  you  might  take  your  father's 
word  in  such  a  case.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  vice, 
I  can  assure  you.  Grimes  is  a  business  ally  of  mine.  He 
is  a  rich  man,  a  great  power  in  New  York  .  .  . 

LAURA.  Do  you  help  to  keep  him  a  power  in  New 
York? 

HEGAN.    Why,  I  don't  know  .   .   . 

LAURA.    Do  you  contribute  to  his  campaign  funds? 

HEGAN.  Why,  Laura!  I  am  a  Democrat.  Surely  I 
have  a  right  to  support  my  party ! 

LAURA.  [Quickly.]  Have  you  ever  contributed  to  the 
Republican  campaign  funds? 

HEGAN.    [Disconcerted;  laughs.]    Why  .  .  .  really  .  .  . 

LAURA.    Please  answer  me. 

HEGAN.    I  am  a  Gold  Democrat,  my  dear. 


ACT  ii ]  THE   MACHINE  105 

LAURA.  I  see.  [She  pauses.]  You  put  Mr.  Grimes  in 
the  way  of  making  a  great  deal  of  money,  do  you  not? 

HEGAN.    I  do  that. 

LAURA.  He  is  interested  in  companies  that  you  give 
contracts  to? 

H EGA x.  Really!  You  seem  to  be  informed  about  mv 
affairs ! 

LAURA.  I  have  taken  some  trouble  to  inform  myself. 
Father,  don't  you  realize  what  it  means  to  corrupt  the 
government  of  the  city  in  this  way? 

IIEGAN.    Corrupt  the  government,  my  dear? 

LAURA.  Does  not  Grimes  have  the  nominating  of 
judges  and  legislators? 

IIEGAN.    Why,  yes  .  .   .  in  a  way  .   .  . 

LAURA.    And  does  he  not  consult  with  you? 

n  EGA N.    Why,  my  dear  .   .   . 

LAURA.    Please  tell  me. 

HEGAN.  [Realizing  that  he  cannot  make  any  more  ad 
missions.']  No,  my  dear. 

LAURA.    Never  ? 

IIEGAN.    Absolutely  never. 

LAURA.  He  has  never  made  any  attempt  to  influence 
the  courts  in  your  favor? 

IIEGAN.    Never. 

LAURA.     Not  in  any  way,  father? 

HEGAN.     Not  in  any  way. 

LAURA.    Nor  in  favor  of  your  companies? 

HEGAN.    No,  my  dear. 

LAURA.  You  mean,  you  can  give  me  your  word  of 
honor  that  that  is  the  truth? 

IIEGAN.    I  can,  my  dear. 

LAURA.  And  that  none  of  your  lawyers  do  it?  Do  you 
mean  that  the  courts  escape  your  influence  .  .  . 

HEGAN.     [Laughing  disconcertedly.']     Really,  my  dear, 


106  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  n 

this  is  as  bad  as  a  Government  investigation!     I   shall 
have  to  take  refuge  in  a  lapse  of  memory. 

LAURA.  [Intensely."]  Father !  Is  it  nothing  to  you 
that  I  have  the  blood  of  that  poor  girl  on  my  conscience? 

HEGAN.    My  child ! 

LAURA.  Yes;  just  that!  She  was  caught  in  the  grip 
of  this  ruthless  system;  it  held  her  fast  and  crushed  her 
life  out.  And  we  maintain  this  system!  I  profit  by  it 
...  all  this  luxury  and  power  that  I  enjoy  comes  from 
it  directly!  Can't  you  see  what  I  mean? 

HEGAN.  I  see,  my  dear,  that  you  are  frightfully  over 
wrought,  and  that  you  are  making  yourself  ill.  Can't 
you  imagine  what  it  means  to  me  to  have  you  acting  in 
this  way?  Here  I  am  at  one  of  the  gravest  crises  of 
my  life;  I  am  working  day  and  night,  under  frightful 
strain  ...  I  have  hardly  slept  six  hours  in  the  past 
three  days.  And  here,  when  I  get  a  chance  for  a  mo 
ment's  rest,  you  come  and  put  me  through  such  an  ordeal ! 
You  never  think  of  that ! 

LAURA.  It's  just  what  I  do  think  of!  Why  must  you 
torture  yourself  so  ?  Why  .  .  . 

HEGAN.  My  dear,  I,  too,  am  in  the  grip  of  the  system 
you  speak  of. 

LAURA.  But  why?  Why  stay  in  it?  Haven't  we  money 
enough  yet? 

HEGAN.  I  have  duties  by  which  I  am  bound  ...  in 
terests  that  I  must  protect.  How  can  I  ...  [A  knock.'] 
Come  in ! 

ANDREWS.  [Enters.']  Here  are  the  papers,  Mr.  Hegan. 
They  must  be  signed  now  if  they're  to  catch  this  mail. 

HEGAN.    All  right. 

Sits  at  desk  up  stage  and  writes. 

LAURA.  [Stands  by  table,  staring  before  her;  picks  up 
book  carelessly  from  table.]  "Ivanhoe"  .  .  .  [Fingers 
it  idly  and  a  slip  of  paper  falls  to  floor.  She  picks  it 


ACT  n]  THE  MACHINE  107 

up,  glances  at  it,  then  starts.]  Oh !  .  .  .  [Reads.] 
"Memo  to  G.,  two  hundred  thousand  on  Court  deal. — 
GRIMES/'  Two  hundred  thousand  on  Court  deal! 
[Glances  back  at  her  father;  then  replaces  slip  and  lays 
book  on  table.]  Father,  have  you  read  "Ivanhoe"? 

HEGAN.  {Without  looking  up.]  I'm  reading  it  now. 
Why?  Do  you  want  it? 

LAURA.    No;  I  just  happened  to  notice  it  here. 

HEGAN.  [Looks  up  sharply,  watches  her,  then  finishes 
writing.]  There!  [Rises;  the  sound  of  a  motor  heard.] 
What's  that? 

ANDREWS.     [Near  window.]    It's  Mr.  Grimes. 

LAURA.     [Starting.]     Grimes ! 

HEGAN.     [To  ANDREWS.]     Bring  him  in. 
ANDREWS  exit. 

LAURA.    Father!    Why  do  you  bring  that  man  here? 

HEGAN.  I'll  not  do  it  again,  dear.  I  didn't  realize. 
He  happened  to  be  in  the  neighborhood  .  .  . 

LAURA.    I  won't  meet  him  ! 

HEGAN.      [Putting    his    arm    about   her.]      Very    well, 
dear;  come  away.     Try  to  stop  worrying  yourself  now, 
for  the  love  of  me  .  .  . 
Leads  her  off  left. 

ANDREWS.  [At  window.]  This  way,  Mr.  Grimes. 
[GRIMES  enters;  a  powerfully  built,  broad-shouldered  man 
of  about  fifty,  with  a  massive  jaw,  covered  with  a  scrubby 
beard;  the  face  of  a  bulldog;  a  grim,  masterful  man,  who 
never  speaks  except  when  he  has  to.  He  enters  and  seats 
himself  in  a  chair  by  the  table.]  Will  you  have  a  cigar  ? 
[Grimes  takes  a  cigar,  without  comment,  and  chews  on 
it;  sits,  staring  in  front  of  him.]  Mr.  Hegan  will  be  here 
directly,  sir. 

He  nods,  and  ANDREWS  exit.  GRIMES  continues  to 
chew  and  stare  in  front  of  him.  He  is  not  under 
the  necessity  of  making  superfluous  motions. 


108 


THE  MACHINE 


[ACT  n 


HEGAN. 
GRIMES. 
HEGAN. 
GRIMES. 
HEGAN. 
GRIMES. 
HEGAN. 

age  it? 

GRIMES. 
HEGAN. 


[Enters  left.']    Hello,  Grimes  ! 

Hello! 

[Betraying  anxiety. ~\     Well? 

It's  done. 

What? 

It's  done. 

Good !     [Grimes  nods.]     How  did 


you  man- 


[Grimly.]    I  put  my  hand  on  'em ! 
Which  one?     Porter?     [GRIMES  nods.]     Oh, 
the  old  hypocrite !     What   did  you   offer  him  ?     Cash  ? 
[GRIMES  shakes  his  head  slowly. .]    What? 

GRIMES.    Discipline ! 

HEGAN.     [Perplexed.]     But  .   .   .a  judge ! 

GRIMES.  When  a  man's  once  mine,  he  stays  mine  .  .  . 
no  matter  if  it's  a  life  job  I  give  him. 

HEGAN.    But  are  you  sure  it's  safe? 

GRIMES.    The  decision  comes  to-morrow. 

HEGAN.     [Starting.]     What? 

GRIMES.    To-morrow  noon. 

HEGAN.    But  how  can  they  write  the  decision? 

GRIMES,    They'll  adopt  the  minority  opinion. 

HEGAN.    Oh!    I  see! 
Chuckles. 

GRIMES.    You  be  ready. 

HEGAN.     Trust  me !     I'll  have  to  go  in  now. 

GRIMES.  It'll  be  a  great  killing.  Old  Murdock  has 
plunged  up  to  his  neck! 

HEGAN.  I  know !  We'll  lay  them  flat.  I'll  get  ready. 
[Rises."]  Old  Porter !  Think  of  it !  When  did  you  see 
him? 

GRIMES.     Last  night. 

HEGAN.    I  see.    I'll  be  with  you. 

GRIMES.    Just  a  moment.    I'll  take  the  money. 


ACT  n]  THE  MACHINE  l()i) 

HEGAN.  Oh,  yes.  Why  don't  you  let  me  hold  it  and 
buy  for  you? 

GRIMES.     I'll  buy  for  myself. 

IIEGAN.    Very  well. 
Sits  at  desk. 

GRIMES.     It's  two  hundred  thousand. 

HEGAN.  That's  right.  [Writes  a  check,  rises  and  gives 
it  to  Grimes.']  There. 

GRIMES.  [Studies  the  check,  nods,  and  puts  it  away 
carefully.']  When's  the  next  train? 

HEGAN.  In  about  ten  minutes.  [Rings  bell.']  An 
drews  ! 

ANDREWS.     [Enters  left.~\    Yes,  sir. 

HEGAN.  I'm  going  into  town  at  once.  Telephone  or 
ders  to  the  house. 

ANDREWS.  Yes,  sir.  And  shall  I  come  in  this  eve 
ning? 

HEGAN.  Yes;  you'd  better.  And  telephone  Mr.  Isaac 
son  and  Mr.  Henry  Sterns  to  meet  me  at  eight  o'clock 
for  an  important  conference  at  ...  let  me  see,  where? 

GRIMES.    At  my  rooms. 

HEGAN.  Very  good.  And  they're  not  to  fail  on  any 
account.  It's  urgent. 

ANDREWS.    Yes,  sir. 

HEGAN  and  GRIMES  go  off  centre.  ANDREWS  remains 
sorting  papers.  A  knock,  right. 

ANDREWS.     Come  in! 

MONTAGUE    enters. 

ANDREWS.  Oh,  good  afternoon.  I  was  looking  for  you, 
Mr.  Montague.  Mr.  Bullen  has  come. 

MONTAGUE.    Oh  !    Where  is  he  ? 

ANDREWS.  He's  waiting.  I'll  tell  him  you're  here. 
Exit  right. 

MONTAGUE.  [Stands  at  window  and  sees  motor  depart 
ing.']  Grimes!  I  wonder  what  that  means?  [Turns 


110  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  n 

away.']     And  what  a  coincidence,  that  I  should  be  here! 
Humph  !     Well,  it's  not  my  doings.     Ah  !     Bullen ! 

JACK.  [Enters,  right,  in  great  excitement.']  Mon 
tague  ! 

MONTAGUE.      YeS. 

JACK.    I've  got  'em ! 

MONTAGUE.      What? 

JACK.    I've  got  'em  ! 
MONTAGUE.    You  don't  mean  it! 

JACK.  Got  'em  dead!  Got  everything!  There's  never 
been  a  case  like  it ! 

MONTAGUE.     [Gazing  about.']     Ssh !    Where  was  it  ? 
JACK.    At  Judge  Porter's  house. 

MONTAGUE.      What  ? 

JACK.    Yes.  .    .    .   Grimes  came  there. 

MONTAGUE.     When  ? 

JACK.  Last  night.  My  friend  was  in  the  next  room 
...  he  heard  everything ! 

MONTAGUE.    And  what  are  they  going  to  do? 

JACK.  Porter  is  to  switch  over,  and  sign  the  minority 
opinion,  and  that's  to  come  out  as  the  decision  of  the 
Court. 

MONTAGUE.    Good  God !    When? 

JACK.    To-morrow. 

MONTAGUE.    Impossible ! 

JACK.  There's  to  be  a  meeting  of  the  judges  this  after 
noon.  See  .  .  .  here's  the  decision !  [Takes  paper  from 
pocket.']  The  one  they  mean  to  kill ! 

MONTAGUE.     [Looks  at  paper.']     Merciful  heavens ! 

JACK.  And  look  here!  [Unfolds  a  paper,  which  has 
pasted  on  it  bits  of  a  torn  and  charred  note.'}  He  threw 
this  in  the  fireplace,  and  it  didn't  burn. 

MONTAGUE.      Bullen  ! 

JACK.     In  Grimes'  own  handwriting:     "My  Dear  Por- 


ACT  n]  THE  MACHINE  111 

ter — I  will  call"  .  .  .  you  can  see  what  that  word  was 
.  .  .  "at  eight-thirty.  Very  urgent."  How's  that? 

MONTAGUE.  Man,  it's  ghastly !  [A  pause.']  How  did 
you  manage  to  get  these? 

JACK.     It's  a  long  story. 

MONTAGUE.     How  did  Grimes  work  it?     Money? 

JACK.    Not  a  dollar. 

MONTAGUE.    What  then? 

JACK.  Just  bluffed  him.  Party  loyalty !  What  was  he 
named  for? 

MONTAGUE.    But  in  a  suit  like  this ! 

JACK.  Never  was  a  better  test !  If  Hegan  lost  this 
case,  he'd  be  wiped  off  the  slate,  and  the  organization 
might  go  down  at  the  next  election.  And  what  were  you 
put  in  for,  Judge  Porter?  Don't  you  see? 

MONTAGUE.    I  see  !     It  takes  my  breath  away ! 

JACK.  [Looking  about.]  And  what  a  place  for  us  to 
meet  in!  Did  you  see  Grimes? 

MONTAGUE.      YeS. 

JACK.    I'll  wager  he  came  to  tell  Hegan  about  it. 

MONTAGUE.    No  doubt  of  it. 

JACK.    God !    I'd  give  one  hand  to  have  heard  them  ! 

MONTAGUE.  Don't  wish  that !  It's  embarrassing  enough 
as  it  is! 

JACK.  [Staring  at  him]  You'll  see  it  through?  You 
won't  back  out? 

MONTAGUE.  Oh,  I'll  see  it  through  .  .  .  trust  me  for 
that.  But  it's  devilish  awkward! 

JACK.     Why  did  you  come  here? 

MONTAGUE.    I  tried  not  to.    But  Miss  Hegan  insisted. 

JACK.  [Laughing.]  The  same  here!  I  was  fair 
caught ! 

MONTAGUE.  And  now  she'll  think  we  learned  it  here. 
I'll  have  to  explain  to  her  .  .  . 

JACK.    What? 


THE  MACHINE  [ACT  n 

MONTAGUE.      I   ITlUSt ! 

JACK.  No !  [LAURA  appears  at  windows,  centre,  and 
hears  the  rest,  which  is  in  excited  tones.~]  It  is  not  to  be 
thought  of ! 

MONTAGUE.  But  I  can't  help  it,  man !  Miss  Hegan  will 
think  I've  been  eavesdropping! 

JACK.  Do  you  realize  what  you're  proposing,  man? 
You'll  ruin  everything !  We've  got  Grimes  dead  ...  we 
can  land  him  in  jail!  But  if  Hegan  heard  any  whisper 
of  it,  they'd  balk  everything ! 

MONTAGUE.      But  how  ? 

JACK.    They'd  hold  up  the  decision  of  the  Court  .   .   . 

MONTAGUE.  Nonsense !  With  all  that  they'd  stand  to 
lose  .  .  . 

LAURA.     [Coming  forward.']    I  beg  pardon,  Mr.  Bullen. 

JACK.    Oh ! 

LAURA.  I  didn't  wish  to  hear  what  you  were  saying. 
But  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  was  caught  unawares.  [The 
three  stare  at  each  other.~\  It  is  something  that  involves 
my  father.  [Looking  at  the  'papers  in  BULLEN'S  handsJ] 
Mr.  Bullen  has  brought  you  some  evidence.  Is  that  so, 
Mr.  Montague? 

MONTAGUE.     [In  a  low  voice.~]     Yes,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.  And  you  wished  to  take  me  into  your  confi 
dence? 

MONTAGUE.  I  wished  to  make  it  impossible  for  you  to 
think  we  had  obtained  this  evidence  in  your  home. 

LAURA.    I  see. 

MONTAGUE.  You  will  do  us  the  justice  to  recognize 
that  we  did  not  seek  admission  here. 

LAURA.  Yes;  I  do  that.  [A  pause.']  All  that  I  can 
say  is,  that  if  you  think  it  best  to  take  me  into  your  con 
fidence,  you  may  trust  me  to  the  bitter  end. 

MONTAGUE.  Miss  Hegan,  Mr.  Bullen  has  brought  me 
evidence  which  proves  that  the  decision  of  the  Court, 


ACT  n]  THE  MACHINE  113 

which  is  to  be  made  known  to-morrow,  has  been  .  .  . 
improperly  affected. 

LAURA.     [Quickly.]     By  whom? 

MONTAGUE.    By  Robert  Grimes. 

LAURA.  [Starts  wildly.'}  And  the  evidence  involves 
my  father? 

MONTAGUE.  Your  father  will  be  the  chief  one  to  profit 
from  the  change. 

LAURA.  {Sinks  back  against  the  table;  stares  away 
from  them,  whispering. ]  To  Grimes  .  .  .  two  hundred 
thousand  on  Court  deal !  I  see !  I  see !  [Faces  them, 
weakly.]  And  what  .  .  .  what  do  you  mean  to  do? 

MONTAGUE.  I  intend  to  wait  until  the  decision  has 
been  announced,  which  will  be  to-morrow,  and  then  to 
call  a  public  meeting  and  present  the  evidence. 

LAURA.  [Starts  to  implore  him;  then  controls  herself.] 
Yes,  yes  .  .  .  that  is  just.  But  then  ...  see !  It  hasn't 
been  done  yet ! 

MONTAGUE.    How  do  you  mean? 

LAURA.  The  decision  hasn't  come  out.  It  could  be 
stopped ! 

JACK.    Why  stop  it? 

LAURA.  That  would  prevent  the  wrong !  I  would  .  .  . 
oh,  I  see!  You  want  to  expose  Grimes!  You'd  rather 
it  happened ! 

JACK.    The  crime  has  already  been  committed. 

LAURA.  And  you,  Mr.  Montague  .  .  .  you  prefer 
it  so? 

MONTAGUE.  I  had  never  thought  of  any  other  possi 
bility. 

LAURA.  Listen !  I  don't  understand  the  matter  very 
clearly.  The  Grand  Avenue  Railroad  case  .  .  . 

MONTAGUE.  It  is  an  effort  to  annul  a  franchise  which 
was  obtained  by  proven  bribery. 


THE  MACHINE  [ACT  n 

LAURA.  Then,  if  the  public  could  win,  it  would  be 
worth  while,  would  it  not? 

MONTAGUE.  It  would  establish  a  precedent  of  vast  im 
portance.  But  how  could  that  be  done? 

LAURA.  We  have  a  hold  upon  these  men  .  .  .  we 
could  compel  them  to  give  way ! 

MONTAGUE.  They  would  never  do  it,  Miss  Hegan  .  .  . 
they  have  too  much  at  stake. 

LAURA.  But  .  .  .  the  evidence  you  have !  Mr.  Bullen 
said  you  could  send  Grimes  to  jail. 

MONTAGUE.  That  was  just  wild  talk.  Grimes  has  the 
district  attorney  and  the  courts.  He  could  never  be 
punished  for  anything. 

LAURA.    But  the  exposure  ! 

JACK.  He's  been  exposed  a  hundred  times.  What  does 
that  matter  to  him? 

LAURA.    But  then  ...  my  father  is  involved. 

JACK.    Quite  true,  Miss  Hegan  .   .  . 

LAURA.    And  I  can  make  him  see  how  wrong  it  is. 

JACK.  You  can  make  him  see  it !  But  you  can't  make 
him  do  anything ! 

LAURA.  Ah,  but  you  don't  know  my  father  .  .  .  truly, 
you  don't.  He  does  these  evil  things,  but  at  heart  he's  a 
kind  and  loyal  man!  And  he  loves  me  ...  I  am  his 
only  daughter  .  .  .  and  I  can  help  him  to  see  what  is 
right.  We  have  always  understood  each  other;  he  will 
listen  to  me  as  he  would  not  to  any  one  else  in  the  world. 

JACK.  But  what  can  you  say  to  him?  We  can't  put 
our  evidence  in  your  hands  .  .  . 

LAURA.  I  don't  need  your  evidence.  I  must  tell  you 
that  I,  too,  have  found  out  something  about  this  case.  I 
know  that  my  father  paid  Mr.  Grimes  to  influence  the 
decision  of  that  Court.  And  I  know  how  much  he  paid 
him. 

MONTAGUE.    Miss  Hegan ! 


ACT  n]  THE  MACHINE  115 

JACK.    Good  God ! 

LAURA.  You  see,  I  am  not  afraid  to  trust  you.  .  .  . 
[A  pause.]  What  is  the  nature  of  your  evidence  against 
Grimes? 

MONTAGUE.  It  comes  from  an  eye-witness  of  his  inter 
view  with  the  Judge. 

LAURA.    And  it  is  some  one  you  can  trust? 

MONTAGUE.    It's  for  Bullen  to  tell  you. 

JACK.  The  Judge  has  a  nephew,  a  dissipated  chap, 
whose  inheritance  he  is  holding  back  .  .  .  and  who  hates 
him  in  consequence.  The  nephew  happens  to  be  a  college 
chum  of  mine.  He  witnessed  the  interview  and  he 
brought  me  the  evidence. 

LAURA.  I  see.  Then,  certainly,  I  have  a  case.  And 
don't  you  see  what  a  hold  that  gives  me  upon  my  father  ? 

JACK.  Miss  Hegan,  you  are  a  brave  woman,  and  I 
would  like  to  give  way  to  you.  But  you  could  accomplish 
nothing.  This  suit,  which  is  nominally  in  the  public 
interest,  is  really  backed  by  Murdock  and  his  crowd, 
who  are  fighting  your  father;  you  must  realize  his  posi 
tion  .  .  .  the  thousand  ties  that  bind  him  ...  all  the 
habits  of  a  lifetime!  Think  of  the  friends  he  has  to 
protect;  you  don't  know  .  .  . 

LAURA.  I  know  it  all.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  I  know 
some  things  that  you  do  not  know.  I  know  that  my  father 
is  not  a  happy  man.  There  is  a  canker  eating  at  his 
heart  .  .  .  the  fruit  of  life  has  turned  to  ashes  on  his 
lips.  And  he  has  one  person  in  all  this  world  that  he 
loves  .  .  .  myself.  He  has  toiled  and  fought  for  me 
...  all  these  years  he  has  told  himself  that  he  was 
making  his  money  for  me.  And  now  he  finds  that  it  brings 
me  only  misery  and  grief  .  .  .  it  is  as  useless  to  me  as 
it  is  to  him !  And  now,  suppose  I  should  go  to  him  and 
say:  "Father,  you  have  committed  a  crime.  And  I  can 
not  stand  it  another  hour.  You  must  choose  here  and 


116  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  n 

now  .  .  .  you  must  give  up  this  fight  against  the  people 
.  .  .  you  must  give  up  this  career,  and  come  with  me  and 
help  me  to  do  good  in  the  world.  Or  else"  .  .  .  [her 
voice  breaking.']  ...  "I  shall  have  to  leave  you !  I  shall 
refuse  to  touch  a  dollar  of  your  money;  I  shall  refuse 
in  any  way  to  share  your  guilt!"  Don't  you  see?  He 
will  know  that  I  am  speaking  the  truth  .  .  .  and  that  I 
mean  every  word  of  it.  Oh,  gentlemen,  believe  me  .  .  . 
my  father  would  be  as  strong  to  atone  for  his  injustices  as 
he  has  been  to  commit  them !  Surely,  you  can't  refuse  me 
this  chance  to  save  him? 

JACK.    Miss  Hegan  .   .   . 

MONTAGUE.    For  God's  sake,  Jack  .  .  . 

JACK.  Excuse  me,  Montague.  How  long  would  you 
expect  us  to  wait,  Miss  Hegan? 

LAURA.  You  need  not  wait  at  all.  You  could  go  right 
ahead  with  your  own  plans.  Meantime,  I  can  go  to  my 
father  ...  I  will  have  to-night  to  plead  with  him,  and 
to-morrow  morning  you  will  know  if  I  have  succeeded. 

JACK.    Very  well  ...  I  will  consent  to  that. 

LAURA.  Let  Mr.  Montague  come  to  my  father's  office 
to-morrow  morning  at  ten  o'clock.  I  shall  not  give  him 
up  ...  even  if  I  have  to  follow  him  there !  And  now 
.  .  .  good-bye  .  .  .  [Starts  toward  the  door,  breaks 
down  and  cries."]  Thank  you  !  Thank  you ! 
Stretches  out  her  hands  to  them. 

MONTAGUE.     [Springing  tozvard  her.~]  Miss  Hegan ! 

LAURA.  Give  me  a  little  courage!  Tell  me  you  think 
I  shall  succeed! 

MONTAGUE.  [Seizing  her  hand.']  I  believe  you  will, 
Miss  Hegan ! 

LAURA.    Ah  !    Thank  you  ! 

MONTAGUE.  [Kisses  her  hand;  tries  to  speak;  over 
come^  Good-bye ! 

LAURA.     [Exit."]    Ah,  God ! 


ACT  n]  THE  MACHINE  117 

JACK.  I  understand,  old  man!  If  only  she  weren't  so 
rich! 

MONTAGUE.    If  only  she  weren't  .   .   . 

JACK.  Yes,  yes,  dear  boy;  I  know  how  it  is.  You're 
troubled  with  a  conscience,  and  yours  must  be  strictly  a 
cottage  affair !  But  forget  it  just  now,  old  fellow  .  .  . 
we've  got  work  before  us.  Play  ball ! 

Takes  him  by  the  shoulder;  they  go  off. 

CURTAIN 


118  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  m 


ACT   III 

HEGAN'S  office  in  Wall  street.  A  large  room,  furnished 
with  severe  simplicity.  At  the  left  a  large  table, 
with  half  a  dozen  chairs  about  it,  and  a  "ticker" 
near  the  wall;  at  the  right,  a  flat-topped  desk  and 
a  telephone.  Entrance  centre. 

At  rise:  ANDREWS  stands  by  desk;  takes  some  papers, 
looks  them  over,  makes  note  and  replaces  them. 

PARKER.  [Enters.'}  Say,  Andrews,  what's  the  reply  to 
these  letters  of  the  Fourth  National? 

ANDREWS.     Give  them  here;  I'll  see  to  them. 

PARKER.    Any  orders  for  the  brokers  this  morning? 

ANDREWS.     I'm  writing  them  myself. 

PARKER.  Something  special,  eh?  All  right.  [Looks 
at  ticker.}  Hello !  Listen  to  this :  "There  is-  a  rumor, 
widely  current,  that  the  decision  of  the  Court  of  Appeals 
in  the  matter  of  the  Public  vs.  the  Grand  Avenue  Rail 
road  Company  will  be  handed  down  to-day !"  Gee  whiz, 
I  wonder  if  that's  so? 

ANDREWS.    I  have  heard  the  rumor. 

PARKER.  There  was  a  reporter  here  yesterday,  trying 
to  pump  me.  I'll  bet  they're  watching  the  boss. 

ANDREWS.    Yes;  no  doubt  of  that 

PARKER.  Cracky !  I'd  like  to  know  which  way  it'll 
go! 

ANDREWS.  A  good  many  others  would  like  to  know,  I've 
no  doubt. 

PARKER.     I'll  bet  my  hat  the  boss  knows ! 

ANDREWS.     It  may  be. 

A  pause;  PARKER  continues  to  read  ticker. 


ACT  m]  THE  MACHINE  119 

PARKER.  I  don't  suppose  you've  heard  anything,  have 
you? 

ANDREWS.    I  never  hear,  Parker. 

PARKER.  Oh,  say  .  .  .  come  off.  Why  don't  you  drop 
a  fellow  a  hint  now  and  then? 

ANDREWS.    I  can't  afford  to. 

PARKER.  It  would  never  go  beyond  me.  [A  pause.] 
Say,  Andrews. 

ANDREWS.     Well  ? 

PARKER.  Would  you  like  to  invest  a  bit  for  me  now 
and  then? 

ANDREWS.     I'm  not  hankering  to,  especially. 

PARKER.    I'll  go  halves  with  you  on  the  profits. 

ANDREWS.    And  how  about  the  losses? 

PARKER.    There  wouldn't  be  any  losses. 

ANDREWS.  Cut  it  out,  Parker  ...  we  don't  want  that 
kind  of  a  thing  in  the  office.  [Handing  him  paper.] 
Here  ...  I  want  three  copies  of  this.  And  take  my 
advice  and  live  on  your  salary. 

PARKER.  Thanks.  I  wish  the  salary  increased  as  fast 
as  the  bills  do !  [Starts  to  door;  sees  LAURA.]  Oh ! 
Good  morning,  Miss  Hegan  ! 

LAURA.     [Enters  hurriedly.]     Good  morning. 

ANDREWS.    Good  morning,  Miss  Hegan. 
PARKER  exit. 

LAURA.    Mr.  Andrews,  where  was  my  father  last  night? 

ANDREWS.     He  had  an  important  conference  .    .    . 

LAURA.    He  did  not  come  to  the  house. 

ANDREWS.  No,  Miss  Hegan ;  it  was  too  late.  He 
stayed  downtown  .  .  . 

LAURA.    And  you  were  not  home,  either. 

ANDREWS.    I  was  with  him. 

LAURA.  It  is  too  bad !  I  have  been  trying  all  night  to 
find  either  of  you. 


120  THE;  MACHINE  [ACT  m 

ANDREWS.  Why  .  .  .  your  father  had  no  idea  when  he 
left  .  .  . 

LAURA.     I  know.     Something  has  turned  up  ... 

ANDREWS.    Nothing  wrong,  I  hope. 

LAURA.  I  must  see  my  father  as  soon  as  possible.  He 
will  be  here  this  morning? 

ANDREWS.     Any  minute,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.     He  will  surely  come? 

ANDREWS.  Not  the  slightest  doubt  of  it.  Nothing 
could  keep  him  away. 

LAURA.  I  wish  to  see  him  the  moment  he  comes.  And 
if  he  should  call  up  or  send  word  .  .  . 

ANDREWS.     I  will  see  that  he  is  informed,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.  Thank  you.  [A  pause.']  The  Court  decision 
is  expected  to-day,  is  it  not,  Mr.  Andrews? 

ANDREWS.  [Hesitates.]  There  has  been  a  rumor,  Miss 
Hegan. 

LAURA.  And  so  there  will  be  considerable  disturbance 
of  the  market? 

ANDREWS.    Presumably. 

LAURA.     And  my  father  has  made  preparations? 

ANDREWS.    Yes. 

LAURA.    That  is  what  the  conference  was  about? 

ANDREWS.     I  presume  so,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.  By  the  way,  Mr.  Andrews,  I  expect  Mr.  Mon 
tague  here  at  ten  o'clock.  Please  let  me  know  when  he 
comes. 

ANDREWS.  Yes,  Miss  Hegan.  [Goes  to  the  door,  then 
turns.]  Here  is  Mr.  Hegan  now. 

LAURA.     [Starting  up.]     Ah ! 

ANDREWS.  [Holding  open  door.]  Good  morning,  Mr. 
Hegan. 

HEGAN.     [Enters]     Good  morning. 

LAURA.    Father ! 


ACT  in]  THE  MACHINE  121 

IIEGAN.  Why,  Laura  !  [ANDREWS  exit.]  What  are  you 
doing  here? 

LAURA.    I've  come  to  have  a  talk  with  you. 

HEGAN.    To  have  a  talk  with  me? 

LAURA.    Come  in,  please,  father.     Shut  the  door. 

HEGAN.    Yes,  my  dear;  but  .   .    . 

LAURA.  I  came  into  the  city  on  the  next  train  after 
you.  I  have  been  hunting  for  you  ever  since  ...  I 
have  been  up  all  night.  I  have  something  of  the  utmost 
urgency  to  talk  with  you  about. 

HEGAN.    What  is  it? 

LAURA.    Come  and  sit  down,  please. 

HEGAN.    Yes,  my  dear. 

LAURA.  Listen,  father.  Yesterday  afternoon,  when  we 
were  talking,  you  told  me  that  you  had  never  done  any- 
think  to  influence  the  courts  in  their  decisions. 

HEGAN.    Yes,  Laura. 

LAURA.  And  you  told  me  that  nobody  else  ever  did  it, 
either  for  you  or  for  your  companies. 

HEGAN.    Yes,  but  .  .  . 

LAURA.    And,  father,  you  told  me  a  falsehood. 

HEGAN.    Laura ! 

LAURA.  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  have  to  say  it.  It  was 
a  falsehood;  and  it  is  but  one  of  many  falsehoods  that 
you  have  told  me.  I  understand  just  why  you  did  it 
.  .  .  you  think  I  ought  not  to  ask  about  these  things, 
because  it  will  make  me  unhappy ;  and  so,  for  my  own 
good,  you  do  not  hesitate  to  tell  me  things  that  are  not 
true. 

HEGAN.  My  child,  it  is  your  father  that  you  are  talk 
ing  to! 

LAURA.  It  is  my  father,  and  a  father  who  knows  that 
I  love  him  very  dearly,  and  who  will  realize  it  hurts  me 
to  say  these  things,  fully  as  much  as  it  hurts  him  to  hear 
them.  But  they  must  be  said  .  .  .  and  said  now. 


122  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  m 

HEGAN.    Why  now?    Just  at  this  moment  .   .   . 

LAURA.  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say.  At  this 
moment  you  are  very  busy  .  .  . 

HEGAN.  My  dear,  the  Exchange  will  open  in  an  hour. 
And  I  am  in  the  midst  of  a  big  campaign.  I  have  impor 
tant  orders  for  my  brokers,  and  a  hundred  other  matters  to 
attend  to.  And  I  expect  Grimes  here  any  minute  .  .  . 

LAURA.    Grimes  ? 

HEGAN.    Yes,  my  dear. 

LAURA.    You  are  not  through  with  him  yet,  then? 

HEGAN.    No,  Laura  .  .  . 

LAURA.  Well,  even  so!  Mr.  Grimes  must  wait  until  I 
have  said  what  I  have  to  say  to  you. 

HEGAN.    What  is  it,  Laura? 

LAURA.  You  are  expecting  the  decision  of  the  Court 
of  Appeals  on  the  Grand  Avenue  Railroad  case  at  noon 
to-day. 

HEGAN.    Why,  yes  .   .   . 

LAURA.  The  decision  will  be  in  your  favor.  And  you 
and  Grimes  are  planning  to  gamble  on  it,  and  to  make  a 
great  deal  of  money. 

HEGAN.     Yes,  my  dear. 

LAURA.  And  you  paid  Grimes  two  hundred  thousand 
dollars  to  fix  the  decision  of  the  Court. 

HEGAN.     [Starting  violently.]     Laura! 

LAURA.  Grimes  went  to  Judge  Porter's  house  the  night 
before  last  and  induced  him  to  change  his  vote  on  the 
case. 

HEGAN.    Laura ! 

LAURA.  And  so,  what  was  to  have  been  the  minority 
opinion  of  the  Court  is  to  be  given  out  to-day  as  the 
Court's  decision. 

HEGAN.    My  God ! 

LAURA.    You  do  not  deny  that  this  is  the  truth? 

HEGAN.    You  overheard  us  at  the  house ! 


ACT  m] 


THE  .MACHINE 


LAURA.    Not  one  word,  father. 

IIEGAN.     But  you  must  have ! 

LAURA.  Father,  throughout  this  conversation,  you  may 
honor  me  by  assuming  that  I  am  telling  you  the  absolute 
truth.  And  I  will  be  glad  when  you  will  give  me  the 
same  privilege. 

HEGAN.    Then,  how  did  you  learn  it? 

LAURA.  That,  unfortunately,  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  tell 
you. 

HEGAN.    Then  other  people  know  it? 

LAURA.    They  do. 

HEGAN.  Good  God!  [Stares  at  her,  dumbfounded.] 
Who  are  these  people? 

LAURA.    I  cannot  tell  you  that. 

HEGAN.    But,  Laura  .  .  .  you  must ! 

LAURA.    It  is  impossible. 

HEGAN.    But  .   .   .  how  can  that  be? 

LAURA.    I  cannot  discuss  the  matter. 

HEGAN.  But  think  ...  my  dear !  I  am  your  father, 
and  you  must  trust  me  .  .  .  you  must  help  me  .  .  . 

LAURA.    Please  do  not  ask  me.    I  have  given  my  word. 

HEGAN.  Your  word!  [Gazes  about,  distracted.']  You 
take  the  part  of  others  against  your  own  flesh  and  blood ! 

LAURA.  Listen,  father !  Think  of  me  for  a  minute, 
and  how  it  seems  to  me.  Do  not  be  so  ignoble  as  to  think 
only  of  the  exposure  .  .  . 

HEGAN.  But,  my  child,  realize  what  it  will  mean  if 
this  comes  out!  Are  these  people  among  my  enemies? 

LAURA.    That  depends  upon  circumstances. 
I  don't  understand  you. 
I  will  try  to  explain,  if  you  will  be  patient 


HEGAN. 

LAURA. 

with  me. 

HEGAN. 
LAURA. 


Go  on  !     Go  on  ! 

Father,  you  know  what  has  been  happening  to 
me  during  the  past  few  months.    You  know  how  unhappy 


THE  MACHINE  [ACT  m 

I  have  been.  And  now  you  have  committed  a  crime 
...  a  dreadful,  dreadful  crime ! 

HEGAN.    My  dear ! 

LAURA.  I  wish  to  make  it  clear  to  you  ...  I  am  in 
desperate  earnest.  I  have  taken  all  night  to  think  it  over, 
and  I  am  not  making  any  mistake.  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  that,  come  what  will,  and  cost  what  it  may,  I  must 
clear  myself  of  the  responsibility  for  these  evils. 

HEGAN.    In  what  way  are  you  responsible? 

LAURA.  In  every  way  imaginable.  My  whole  life  is 
based  upon  them  .  .  .  everything  that  I  have  and  enjoy 
is  stained  with  the  guilt  of  them  ...  the  house  in  which 
I  live,  the  clothing  that  I  wear,  the  food  that  I  eat.  And 
I  shall  never  again  know  what  it  is  to  be  happy,  while 
I  have  that  fact  upon  my  conscience.  Don't  you  see? 

HEGAN.    I  see. 

LAURA.  I  tried  all  night  to  find  you.  I  wanted  to  have 
a  chance  to  talk  with  you,  quietly.  And,  now,  instead,  I 
have  to  do  it  here,  amid  all  the  rush  and  strain  of  this 
dreadful  Wall  Street.  But  so  it  is  .  .  .1  must  say  it  here. 
Father,  I  have  come  to  plead  with  you,  to  plead  with  you 
upon  my  knees.  Listen  to  me  .  .  .  don't  turn  me  away ! 

HEGAN.    What  do  you  wish  me  to  do? 

LAURA.  First  of  all,  I  wish  you  to  give  up  this  illegal 
advantage  that  you  have  gained.  I  wish  you  to  stop  this 
decision,  and  give  the  people  the  victory  to  which  they 
are  entitled. 

HEGAN.  But,  my  dear,  that  is  madness!  How  can 
I  ... 

LAURA.  You  compelled  Grimes  to  do  this  thing  .  .  . 
you  can  compel  him  to  undo  it ! 

HEGAN.     But,  my  dear,  it  would  ruin  me ! 

LAURA.  If  you  do  what  I  ask  you  to  do,  ruin  will  not 
matter. 

HEGAN.    What  do  you  ask  me? 


ACT  m]  THE  MACHINE  1*5 

LAURA.  I  wish  you  to  stop  this  mad  career  ...  to 
give  up  this  money  game  ...  to  drop  it  utterly !  To 
stop  selling  stocks  and  manipulating  markets ;  to  stop 
buying  politicians  and  franchises  ...  to  sell  out  every 
thing  ...  to  withdraw.  I  want  you  to  do  it  now  .  .  . 
to-day  .  .  .  this  very  hour ! 

HEGAN.    But,  my  dear  .   .   . 

LAURA.  I  want  you  to  come  with  me,  and  help  me  to 
find  happiness  again,  by  doing  some  good  in  the  world.  I 
want  you  to  use  your  power  and  your  talents  to  help  peo 
ple,  instead  of  to  destroy  them. 

HEGAN.  My  child !  That  is  something  very  easy  to 
talk  about,  but  not  so  easy  to  do ! 

LAURA.    We  will  work  together,  and  find  ways  to  do  it. 

HEGAN.  It  seems  possible,  from  your  point  of  view 
.  .  .  with  your  noble  ideals,  and  your  sheltered  life  .  .  . 

LAURA.  My  sheltered  life!  That  is  just  what  I  can 
no  longer  endure !  That  I  should  have  ease  and  com 
fort,  while  others  suffer  .  .  .  that  my  father  should  take 
part  in  this  mad  struggle  for  money  and  power,  in  order 
to  give  me  a  sheltered  life !  I  must  make  it  impossible 
for  that  to  continue !  I  must  make  you  understand  that 
all  your  money  is  powerless  to  bring  me  happiness  .  .  . 
that  it  is  poisoning  my  life  as  well  as  your  own ! 

HEGAN.  [Gravely.]  Laura,  I  have  tried  to  protect 
you  .  .  .  that  is  the  natural  instinct  of  a  father  ...  to 
keep  evil  things  from  his  daughter's  knowledge.  If  I 
have  told  you  untruths,  as  you  say,  that  has  been  the 
one  reason.  But  since  you  will  not  have  it  so  .  .  .  since 
you  must  face  the  facts  of  the  world  .  .  . 

LAURA.    I  must ! 

HEGAN.  Very  well,  then  .  .  .  you  shall  face  them. 
You  tell  me  to  give  up  this  case  ...  to  change  back  the 
Court's  decision,  so  that  the  public  may  reap  the  advan 
tage.  Do  you  realize  that  the  public  has  nothing  to  do 


126  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  in 

with  this  suit?  .  .  .  That  it  is  a  covert  attack  upon  me  by 
an  unscrupulous  enemy? 

LAURA.    You  mean  Murdock? 

HEGAN.  Murdock.  You  know  something  of  his  career, 
perhaps  .  .  .  something  of  his  private  life,  too.  And 
if  I  should  turn  back,  as  you  ask,  the  public  would  gain 
nothing  ...  he  would  be  the  only  one  to  profit.  He 
would  raid  my  securities;  he  would  throw  my  companies 
into  bankruptcy ;  he  would  draw  my  associates  away  from 
me  ...  in  the  end,  he  would  take  my  place  in  the  trac 
tion  field.  Is  that  what  you  wish  to  bring  about? 

LAURA.  It  is  not  that  that  I  am  thinking  of.  It  is  the 
corrupting  of  the  Court  .  .  . 

HEGAN.  The  Court !  Do  you  know  why  Grimes  and 
I  had  to  do  what  we  did? 

LAURA.    No. 

HEGAN.  And  yet  you  have  judged  me!  What  would 
you  say  if  I  told  you  that  we  had  information  that  one 
of  the  judges  had  received  a  thousand  shares  of  Grand 
Avenue  stock  from  Murdock?  And  that  another  had 
been  promised  a  seat  in  the  United  States  Supreme  Court 
by  that  eminent  Republican? 

LAURA.    Oh !     Horrible ! 

HEGAN.    You  see  what  the  game  is? 

LAURA.  But,  father !  The  buying  and  selling  of  the 
powers  of  the  Government  .  .  . 

HEGAN.  The  "Government"  consisting  of  politicians 
who  have  gotten  themselves  elected  for  the  purpose  of 
selling  out  to  the  highest  bidder.  For  ten  years  now  I 
have  been  in  charge  of  these  properties  ...  I  have  had 
the  interests  of  thousands  of  investors  in  my  keeping 
.  .  .  and  all  the  while  I  have  been  like  a  man  surrounded 
by  a  pack  of  wolves.  I  defended  myself  as  I  could  .  .  . 
in  the  end,  I  found  that  the  best  way  to  defend  was  by 
attacking.  In  other  words,  I  had  to  go  into  politics,  to 


ACT  ml  THE  MACHINE  127 

make  the  control  of  the  "Government"  a  part  of  my  busi 
ness.  Don't  you  see? 

LAURA.    Yes,  I  see.    But  why  play  such  a  game? 

HEGAN.  Why?  Because  it  is  the  only  game  I  have 
ever  known  .  .  .  the  only  game  there  is  to  play.  That 
is  the  way  I  have  lived  my  life  .  .  .  the  way  I  have  risen 
to  power  and  command.  I  played  it  for  myself,  and  for 
my  friends,  and  for  those  I  loved. 

LAURA.  You  played  it  for  me !  And,  oh !  father ! 
father !  .  .  .  Can't  you  see  what  that  means  to  me  ?  To 
realize  that  all  my  life  has  been  based  upon  such  things ! 
Don't  you  see  how  I  can't  let  it  go  on  .  .  .  how,  if  you 
refuse  to  do  what  I  ask  you  to,  it  will  be  impossible  for 
me  to  touch  a  dollar  of  your  money? 

HEGAN.    Laura ! 

LAURA.  Just  that,  father!  I  should  never  again  be 
able  to  face  my  conscience ! 

HEGAN.  [After  a  pause.]  Listen  to  me,  dear.  You 
know  that  I  have  always  meant  to  withdraw  .  .  . 

LAURA.  I  know  that.  And  that  has  been  a  confession ! 
You  know  that  you  are  wrecking  your  life — wrecking 
everything!  And  if  you  mean  to  stop,  why  not  stop? 

HEGAN.  But,  my  dear,  at  this  moment  .  .  .  in  the 
midst  of  the  battle  .  .  . 

LAURA.  At  this  moment  you  are  on  the  point  of  doing 
something  that  will  put  a  brand  upon  your  conscience 
for  the  balance  of  your  career.  And  at  this  moment  you 
are  confronted  with  the  realization  that  you  are  ruining 
your  daughter's  life.  You  see  her  before  you,  desperate 
.  .  .  frantic  with  shame  and  grief.  And  you  have  to 
make  up  your  mind,  either  to  drive  her  from  you,  heart 
broken  ...  or  else  to  turn  your  face  from  these  evils, 
and  to  take  up  a  new  way  of  life. 

HEGAN.  [Broken  and  crushed,  sits  staring  at  her.] 
Laura ! 


128  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  m 

LAURA.     [Stretching  out  her  arms  to  him.'}     Father ! 
A  knock  at  the  door;  they  start. 

GRIMES.     [Enters.]     Oh !     Beg  pardon ! 

HEGAN.    Come  in. 

LAURA.     [Starting  up.~]     No ! 

HEGAN.    Come  in !    You  must  know  it ! 

GRIMES.    What  is  it? 

HEGAN.    Shut  the  door  !    Grimes,  the  game  is  up ! 

GRIMES.    How  d'ye  mean? 

HEGAN.  We've  been  betrayed.  Somebody  knows  all 
about  the  Court  decision  .  .  .  about  what  passed  between 
you  and  Porter,  and  between  you  and  me ! 

GRIMES.    The  hell  you  say  ! 

HEGAN.    We're  threatened  with  exposure ! 

GRIMES.    Who  is  it? 

HEGAN.    I  don't  know. 

GRIMES.    But,  then  .   .   . 

HEGAN.  My  daughter  tells  me.  But  she  is  not  at  lib 
erty  to  give  the  names. 

GRIMES.  Well,  I'll  be  damned !  [He  stares  from  HEGAN 
to  LAURA;  then  comes  and  sits,  very  deliberately,  where 
he  can  gaze  at  them.  A  long  pause;  then,  nodding  toward 
LAURA.]  What's  her  game? 

HEGAN.     [Weakly.']     She  will  tell  you. 

GRIMES.     [Looking  at  her.]    Well? 

LAURA.  I  am  here  to  plead  with  my  father  to  turn 
back  from  this  wickedness. 

GRIMES.     [Stares.]     And  do  what,  ma'am? 

LAURA.  Quit  Wall  Street,  and  devote  himself  to  some 
useful  work. 

GRIMES.     [After  a  pause]    And  if  he  won't? 

LAURA.  I  have  told  him  he  must  choose  between  his 
present  career  and  his  daughter's  love. 

GRIMES.  [Gases  at  LAURA,  then  in  front  of  him;  slowly 
shakes  his  head.]  I  can't  make  out  our  young  people. 


ACT  m]  THE  MACHINE  129 

When  I  was  a  boy,  young  women  looked  up  to  their 
parents.  What's  your  father  done  to  you,  that  you  should 
turn  against  him? 

LAURA.    I  have  not  turned  against  him,  Mr.  Grimes. 

GRIMES.     [Indicating  IIEGAN,  who  sits  in  an  attitude  of 
despair.]     Look  at  him  ! 
A  pause. 

LAURA.  I  am  pleading  with  him  for  his  own  good  .  .  . 
to  give  up  this  cruel  struggle  .  .  . 

GRIMES.    To  turn  tail  and  run  from  his  enemies? 

LAURA.  It  is  of  my  duty  to  the  public  that  I  am  think 
ing,  Mr.  Grimes. 

GRIMES.  You  owe  no  duty  to  this  world  higher  than 
your  duty  to  your  father. 

LAURA.    You  think  that? 

GRIMES.    I  think  it. 

LAURA.  [Hesitates  a  moment,  then  turns.']  Father! 
What  do  you  say  ?  Is  that  true  ? 

HEGAN.     [Crushed.]     I  don't  know,  my  dear. 

GRIMES.  God  Almighty !  And  this  is  Jim  Hegan  !  [To 
LAURA.]  Where'd  you  get  onto  these  ideas,  ma'am? 

LAURA.  [In  a  low  voice.]  I  think,  Mr.  Grimes,  it 
might  be  best  if  you  did  not  ask  me  to  discuss  this  ques 
tion.  Our  points  of  view  are  too  different. 

GRIMES.  [Shrugs  his  shoulders.]  As  you  please,  ma'am. 
But  you  needn't  mind  me  ...  I  ain't  easy  to  offend. 
And  I'm  only  trying  to  understand  you. 

LAURA.  [After  a  silence.]  Mr.  Grimes,  I  had  the  good 
fortune  to  be  brought  up  in  a  beautiful  and  luxurious 
home;  but  not  long  ago  I  began  to  go  down  into  the 
slums  and  see  the  homes  of  the  people.  I  saw  sights 
that  made  me  sick  with  horror. 

GRIMES.    No  doubt,  ma'am. 

LAURA.    I  found  the  people  in  the  grip  of  a  predatory 


130  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  m 

organization  that  had  bound  them  hand  and  foot,  and  was 
devouring  them  alive. 

GRIMES.  You've  been  listening  to  tales,  ma'am.  We  do 
a  lot  for  the  people. 

LAURA.  You  treat  them  to  free  coal  and  free  picnics 
and  free  beer,  and  so  you  get  their  votes;  and  then  you 
sell  them  out  to  capitalists  like  my  father. 

GRIMES.    Humph ! 

LAURA.  You  sell  them  out  to  any  one,  high  or  low, 
who  will  pay  for  the  privilege  of  exploiting  them.  You 
sell  them  to  the  rum-dealer  and  the  dive-keeper  and  the 
gambler.  You  sell  them  to  the  white-slave  trader. 

GRIMES.    There's  no  such  person,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.  You  offer  an  insult  to  my  intelligence,  Mr. 
Grimes.  I  have  met  with  him  and  his  work.  There  was 
a  girl  of  the  slums  .  .  .  her  name  was  Annie  Rogers. 
She  was  a  decent  girl;  and  she  was  lured  into  a  dive  and 
drugged  and  shut  up  in  a  brothel,  a  prisoner.  She  es 
caped  to  the  street,  pursued,  and  a  friend  of  mine  saved 
her.  And,  high  and  low,  among  the  authorities  of  this 
city,  we  sought  for  justice  for  that  girl,  and  there  was  no 
justice  to  be  had.  Yesterday  afternoon  I  learned  that  she 
cut  her  own  throat. 

GRIMES.    I  see. 

LAURA.  And  that  happened,  Mr.  Grimes !  It  happened 
in  the  City  of  New  York !  I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes ! 

GRIMES.    Such  things  have  been,  ma'am. 

LAURA.    And  you  permit  them. 

GRIMES.      I  ? 

LAURA.     You  permit  them  ! 

GRIMES.  I  can't  attempt  to  discuss  prostitution  with  a 
lady.  Such  things  existed  long  before  I  was  born. 

LAURA.  You  could  use  your  power  to  drive  the  traffic 
from  the  city. 

GRIMES.     Yes,  ma'am;  I  suppose  I  could.     But  if  I'd 


ACT  m]  THE  MACHINE  131 

been  that  sort  of  a  man,  do  you  think  I'd  ever  had  the 
power? 

LAURA.  How  neatly  parried !  What  sort  of  a  man  are 
you,  anyway? 

GRIMES.  [Looks  at  her  fixedly.]  I'll  tell  you  the  sort 
of  man  I  am,  ma'am.  [A  pause.]  I  wasn't  brought  up 
in  a  beautiful,  luxurious  home.  I  was  brought  up  with 
five  brothers,  in  two  rooms  on  the  top  floor  of  a  rear 
tenement  on  Avenue  B;  I  was  a  little  street  "mick,"  and 
then  I  was  a  prize  "scrapper,"  and  the  leader  of  a  gang. 
When  a  policeman  chased  me  upstairs,  my  mother  stood 
at  the  head  and  fought  him  off  with  a  rolling-pin.  That 
was  the  way  we  stood  by  our  children,  ma'am;  and  we 
looked  to  them  to  stand  by  us.  Once,  when  I  was  older, 
my  enemies  tried  to  do  me  .  .  .  they  charged  me  with  a 
murder  that  I  never  done,  ma'am.  But  d'ye  think  my  old 
father  ever  stopped  to  ask  if  I  done  it  or  not,  ma'am? 
Not  much.  "Don't  mention  that,  Bob,  my  boy,"  says  he 
.  .  .  "it's  all  part  of  the  fight,  an'  we're  wid  yer."  [A 
pause.]  I  looked  about  me  at  the  world,  ma'am,  and  I 
found  it  was  full  of  all  sorts  of  pleasant  things,  that  I'd 
never  had,  and  never  stood  a  chance  of  havin'.  They 
were  for  the  rich  .  .  .  the  people  on  top.  And  they 
looked  on  with  scorn  ...  I  was  poor  and  I  was  low, 
and  I  wasn't  fit  for  anything.  And  so  I  set  to  climb, 
ma'am.  I  shouldered  my  way  up.  I  met  men  that  fought 
me;  I  fought  them  back,  and  I  won  out.  That's  the  sort 
of  man  I  am. 

LAURA.  I  see.  A  selfish  man,  bent  upon  power  at  any 
price  !  A  brutal  man,  profiting  by  the  weakness  of  others  ! 
An  unscrupulous  man,  trading  upon  fear  and  greed !  A 
man  who  has  stopped  at  no  evil  to  gain  his  purpose ! 

GRIMES.     I  am  what  the  game  has  made  me. 

LAURA.  Not  so !  Not  so !  Many  another  man  has 
been  born  to  a  fate  like  yours,  and  has  fought  his  way 


132  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  m 

up  from  the  pit  ...  to  be  a  tower  of  strength  for  good 
ness  and  service,  an  honor  to  his  people  and  himself. 

GRIMES.    I've  not  met  any  such,  ma'am. 

LAURA.  No;  you've  not  sought  for  them.  You  did  not 
need  them  in  your  business.  The  men  you  needed  were  the 
thugs  and  the  criminals,  who  could  stuff  ballot-boxes  for 
you  .  .  .  the  dive-keepers  and  the  vice-sellers,  who  would 
contribute  to  your  campaign  funds !  And  you  have  dealt 
with  them  .  .  .  you  have  built  up  the  power  they  gave 
you  into  a  mighty  engine  of  corruption  and  wrong !  And 
you  are  master  of  it  .  .  .  you  use  it  to  wring  tribute 
from  high  and  low!  Selling  immunity  to  dive-keepers 
and  betraying  helpless  young  girls !  Naming  legislators 
and  judges,  and  receiving  bribes  to  corrupt  the  highest 
Court  in  the  State. 

HEGAN.    Laura  .    .   . 

LAURA.  Father,  I  did  not  seek  this  discussion!  He 
challenged  me  ...  and  he  shall  hear  the  truth!  For 
all  these  months  the  thing  that  has  been  driving  me  to 
desperatio»  has  been  the  knowledge  that  my  father  was 
the  business  associate  and  ally  of  a  master  of  infamy  like 
Robert  Grimes! 

GRIMES.  Thanks,  ma'am !  And  so  now  he's  to  break 
with  me ! 

A  knock  at  the  door. 

ANDREWS.  [Enters,  centre.]  Mr.  Hegan,  these  orders 
for  your  brokers  must  be  signed. 

HEGAN.     I  won't  sign  them ! 

ANDREWS.    Sir  ? 

HEGAN.    Never  mind  them. 

GRIMES.  [Springing  to  his  feet.]  Jim  Hegan,  you're 
mad!  [To  ANDREWS.]  Go  out,  will  you?  [ANDREWS 
exit.~\  Hegan,  man  .  .  .  surely  you  don't  mean  this? 

HEGAN.    Yes  .      .  I'm  sick  of  it ! 


ACT  m]  THE  MACHINE  133 

GRIMES.  But,  man,  think  of  the  rest  of  us !  .  .  .  What 
are  we  to  do? 

HEGAN.    You  can  buy  just  the  same. 

GRIMES.  But  without  you?  Why,  we  won't  be  able  to 
corner  Murdock!  And  if  he  gets  out  of  this  hole,  it'll 
be  worse  than  ever !  There'll  be  hell  to  pay  ! 

HEGAN.    I  don't  care. 

GRIMES.  But,  man,  you've  pledged  yourself!  Look  at 
what  Harris  has  done  !  .  .  .  What  excuse  will  you  be  able 
to  make  to  him?  And  what  will  you  tell  Henry  Stevens? 

HEGAN.     I'll  tell  them  I've  quit. 

GRIMES.  But  you  told  them  last  night  you  were  going 
in  with  every  dollar  you  could  raise !  You  told  Isaacson 
he  could  break  with  Murdock !  And  now  you'll  tell  them 
you've  turned  tail  and  run !  Why,  Hegan,  it's  treason ! 

HEGAN.    Listen  to  me  .   .   . 

GRIMES.  I  don't  want  to  listen  to  you!  Half  an  hour 
from  now  you'll  be  ashamed  of  yourself  .  .  .  wishing 
that  nobody  had  heard  you !  You'll  be  begging  me  not 
to  mention  it !  You  .  .  .  Jim  Hegan  .  .  .  the  traction 
king!  To  lose  your  nerve  over  a  little  thing  like  this! 
What's  come  over  you,  anyhow  .  .  .  after  all  the  things 
we've  been  through  together?  Why,  man  .  .  . 
The  'phone  rings. 

HEGAN.  Hello!  Who  is  it?  Oh,  Isaacson.  Yes; 
I'll  speak  with  him.  Hello,  Isaacson!  Yes.  No;  I've 
not  forgotten.  I'll  do  whatever  I  said  I'd  do.  Er  .  .  .  yes; 
that's  all  right.  I've  been  delayed.  Yes.  I'll  get  the 
money  to  you.  Right  away.  Oh,  certainly,  that's  all 
right.  [Hangs  up  receiver.'}  Ah,  God  ! 

GRIMES.  Hegan,  listen  here.  You're  in  the  midst  of  a 
battle.  And  you're  the  general.  Everything  depends  on 
you  this  morning.  And  you've  a  right  to  be  afraid  .  .  . 
but  you've  no  right  to  let  others  see  it.  You've  no  right 
...  do  you  understand  me?  And,  by  God,  I  won't  let 


134  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  m 

you !  .  .  .  I'll  be  a  man  for  two  of  you !  Shake  yourself 
together  now  !  [Seizes  him.']  Come,  man !  Shake  your 
self  together ! 

HEGAN.    But  think  tff  the  exposure ! 

GRIMES.  The  exposure!  And  this  is  Jim  Hegan  talk 
ing!  How  many  times  have  you  been  exposed  already? 
And  how  many  times  have  I  been? 

HEGAN.     But  this  is  different. 

GRIMES.  How  different?  We've  got  the  police,  and 
we've  got  the  district  attorney,  and  we've  got  the  courts. 
What  more  do  we  want?  What  can  they  do  but  talk  in 
the  newspapers?  And  is  there  anything  they  haven't 
said  about  us  already?  [Takes  HEGAN  by  the  arm,  and 
laughs.'}  Come,  old  man !  As  my  friend  Leary  says : 
"Dis  is  a  nine-day  town.  If  yez  kin  stand  de  gaff  for 
nine  days,  ye're  all  right !"  We'll  stand  the  gaff ! 

HEGAN.    I'm  tired  of  standing  it. 

GRIMES.  Yes,  we  all  get  tired  now  and  then.  But  this 
afternoon  it'll  be  Murdock  that's  tired.  Think  of  him, 
Hegan  ...  try  to  realize  him  a  bit!  You've  got 
him  where  you  want  him  at  last !  Remember  what  he 
did  to  you  in  the  Brooklyn  Ferry  case !  Remember  how 
he  lied  to  you  in  the  Third  Avenue  case !  And  he  told 
Isaacson,  only  last  week,  that  he'd  never  let  up  on  you 
till  he'd  driven  you  out  of  the  traction  field! 

HEGAN.    Did  he  say  that? 

GRIMES.  He  did  that !  And  only  yesterday  he  said  he 
was  getting  ready  to  finish  you !  He's  as  sure  of  this 
Court  decision  as  I  am  of  the  sunrise !  I'm  told  he's 
short  already  over  a  quarter  of  a  million  shares ! 

HEGAN.  But  his  judges'll  get  word  to  him  .  .  .  he'll 
buy! 

GRIMES.  Of  course!  But  that's  just  why  you  ought 
to  be  busy !  Buy  first,  and  make  him  pay  .  .  .  damn 
his  soul ! 


ACT  ra]  THE  MACHINE  135 

ANDREWS.  [Knocks  and  enters.]  Mr.  Stevens  is  here, 
Mr.  Hegan. 

GRIMES.  Henry  Stevens?  We'll  see  him.  [ANDREWS 
r.rif.]  Come  on,  man!  We'll  go  over  to  your  brokers 
and  take  the  orders.  It'll  give  you  a  smell  of  the  powder 
smoke. 

LAURA.  [As  HEGAN  starts  to  follow.~\  Father,  you  are 
going  with  him  ? 

HEGAN.    My  dear  child,  what  can  I  do? 

LAURA.  But  think  of  the  disgrace  ...  the  shame  of 
it !  You  will  carry  it  with  you  all  your  life ! 

HEGAN.  I  can't  help  it.  I  am  bound  hand  and  foot. 
I  ... 

LAURA.  Father!  [She  rushes  to  him,  and  flings  her 
arms  about  him.]  Do  you  realize  what  you  are  doing? 
You  are  driving  me  away  from  you !  .  .  .  You  are  cast 
ing  me  off !  And  all  for  a  few  more  dollars  ! 

IIEGAN.  My  dear,  it  is  not  that.  My  word  is 
pledged. 

LAURA.  You  are  trampling  me  in  the  dust.  You  are 
spurning  all  that  is  best  in  your  life ! 

GRIMES.    Come,  come,  man!    The  game  is  called! 

HEGAN.    Let  me  go,  my  dear. 

LAURA.     Father ! 

HEGAN.  No!  No!  [He  gently,  but  firmly,  puts  her 
arms  from  him.]  Good-bye,  dear. 

LAURA.  Father!  [HEGAN  and  GRIMES  go  out  centre; 
she  sinks  by  the  table,  and  buries  her  face  in  her  arms, 
sobbing;  after  a  considerable^  interval,  a  knock  on  the 
door,  centre.]  Come  in  ! 

MONTAGUE.     [Enters.]     Well? 

LAURA.  I  have  failed.  [Rises  and  stretches  out  her 
arms.]  Failed!  He  has  gone  with  Grimes! 

MONTAGUE.    I  saw  him  go,  Miss  Hegan. 

LAURA.     [Swiftly.]     And  yet  ...   I  have  not  failed 


136  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  m 

utterly.  I  have  failed  to  turn  back  the  decision  ...  to 
save  him  from  this  disgrace.  But  that  is  not  all. 

MONTAGUE.    How  do  you  mean  ? 

LAURA.  I  shall  not  give  him  up  ...  and,  in  the  end, 
I  shall  have  my  way;  I  can  see  that  quite  clearly.  Ah, 
how  I  hurt  him!  I  almost  broke  his  heart!  And  just 
now  he  is  in  the  midst  of  the  battle  ...  the  rage  of  it 
is  on  him.  But,  afterwards,  he  will  recollect  ...  he 
will  be  overwhelmed  with  grief !  And  then  he  will  see ! 
He  will  do  what  I  have  begged  him  to ! 

MONTAGUE.    Yes  .    .   .  perhaps  that  is  so. 

LAURA.  I  know  what  my  love  means  to  him !  I  know 
what  he  is  at  heart !  And  when  he  sees  that  I  mean  to 
carry  out  my  threat,  to  go  by  myself  and  to  refuse  to 
touch  his  money  .  .  .  that  will  be  more  than  he  can  bear, 
Mr.  Montague ! 

MONTAGUE.    You  mean  to  do  that? 

LAURA.  I  mean  to  do  it !  I  mean  to  do  it  to-day ;  and 
I  will  never  yield  to  him  .  .  .  never  until  he  has  atoned 
for  this  wrong  he  has  done!  And  don't  you  see  that  I 
will  win  in  the  end? 

MONTAGUE.      YeS  J  I  SCC. 

LAURA.  [Quickly.]  Understand,  that  has  nothing  to 
do  with  your  course.  I  am  not  asking  you  to  spare  him. 
You  must  go  ahead  and  do  your  duty  .  .  .  you  must  do 
just  what  you  would  have  done  if  I  had  never  stood  in 
the  way. 

MONTAGUE.  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  me,  Miss  Hegan.  I 
cannot  turn  back  .  .  . 

LAURA.  You  must  not !  You  must  not  think  of  it ! 
It  will  be  a  part  of  my  father's  punishment  .  .  .  and  he 
has  deserved  it.  He  has  prepared  that  cup,  and  he  must 
drink  it  ...  to  the  dregs ! 

MONTAGUE.    You  can  bear  it  ? 

LAURA.    It  is  not  any  question  of  what  I  can  bear.    It 


ACT  in]  THE  MACHINE  137 

is  a  question  of  the  rights  of  the  people.  I  saw  that 
quite  clearly,  as  my  father  talked  with  me.  Whether  it 
is  he  who  wins,  or  whether  it  is  Murdock,  it  is  always 
the  people  that  lose.  And,  let  it  hurt  whom  it  may,  the 
people  must  have  the  truth ! 

MONTAGUE.  And  then  .  .  .  you  will  be  able  to  forgive 
me !  Ah,  what  a  weight  you  lift  from  me !  I  hardly 
dared  to  face  the  thought  of  what  I  had  to  do!  [Hesi 
tating.]  And  then,  the  thought  that  you  mean  to  re 
nounce  your  father's  wealth  .  .  .  that  you  are  going  out 
into  the  world  .  .  .  alone  .  .  . 

LAURA.  It  will  not  be  hard  for  me.  You  cannot  know 
how  I  have  hated  my  past  life.  To  know  that  my  father 
has  plundered  the  public  .  .  .  ancj.  then  to  give  his  money, 
and  call  it  charity.  To  be  flattered  and  fawned  upon 
.  .  .  to  be  celebrated  and  admired  .  .  .  and  never  for 
anything  that  I  am,  but  always  for  my  money ! 

MONTAGUE.  I  understand  what  you  feel !  And  see  what 
your  decision  means  to  me  ...  it  sets  me  free  at  last ! 

LAURA.    Free ! 

MONTAGUE.  Free  to  speak !  Miss  Hegan,  I  came  to 
New  York,  and  I  met  these  rich  people,  and  I  saw  how 
their  fortunes  were  poisoning  their  lives.  I  saw  men  who 
could  not  have  a  real  friend  in  the  world,  because  of  their 
money.  I  saw  young  girls  whose  souls  were  utterly  dead 
in  them  because  they  had  been  brought  up  to  think  of 
themselves  as  keepers  of  money-bags,  and  to  guard 
against  men  who  sought  to  prey  upon  them.  I  hated 
the  thing  ...  I  fled  from  it  as  I  would  from  a  plague. 
In  that  world  I  had  met  a  woman  I  might  have  loved 
...  a  woman  who  was  noble  and  beautiful  and  true; 
and  yet  I  dared  not  speak  to  her  ...  I  dared  not  even 
permit  myself  to  know  her  .  .  .  because  I  was  a  poor 
man,  and  she  was  rich.  But  now  she  is  to  be  poor  also ! 
And  so  I  may  speak ! 


138  THE  MACHINE  [ACT  ra 

LAURA.     [Starting.']     Oh ! 

MONTAGUE.  Miss  Hegan,  from  the  first  time  I  met  you 
I  felt  that  you  were  the  woman  I  should  love.  But  then, 
as  fate  would  have  it,  I  found  myself  preparing  to  attack 
your  father;  so  I  said  that  we  must  never  meet  again. 
But  now  you  see  how  it  has  happened.  I  have  come  to 
know  you  as  I  never  hoped  to  know  you,  and  I  know  that 
I  love  you. 

LAURA.    I  had  no  idea  .   .   . 

MONTAGUE.  You  say  that  you  are  going  away  alone. 
Let  us  go  together.  We  have  the  same  purpose  .  .  . 
we  have  the  same  battle  to  fight.  We  can  go  out  to  the 
people  and  help  to  teach  them. 

LAURA.    You  .  .  .  you  know  that  you  love  me  ? 

MONTAGUE.  I  love  you !  I  want  nothing  so  much  as 
the  chance  to  serve  you  and  help  you.  The  chance  to 
tell  you  so  is  more  than  I  had  ever  ventured  to  hope  for. 
To  find  you  free  and  alone  .  .  .  to  be  able  to  speak  to 
you,  with  no  thought  of  wealth  or  position !  To  tell  you 
that  I  love  you  .  .  .  just  you !  You ! 

LAURA.  I  hardly  dare  to  think  of  it  .  .  .  now  .  .  . 
here  .  .  . 

MONTAGUE.  We  can  put  all  the  past  behind  us  ... 
we  can  take  a  new  start  and  win  our  own  way.  If  only 
you  love  me ! 

LAURA.    Ah,  to  let  myself  be  happy  again.    How  can  I  ? 

MONTAGUE.  If  you  love  me,  then  we  have  the  key  to 
happiness  .  .  .  then  everything  is  clear  before  us.  We 
can  face  the  world  together!  Do  you  love  me? 
[Stretches  out  his  arms  to  her.']  Laura ! 

LAURA.     [Sways  toward  him.]     I  love  you. 

MONTAGUE.    [Embraces  her.]     My  love! 

CURTAIN 


THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN 


CHARACTERS 

JIM  FARADAY:  the  second-story  man. 
HARVEY  AUSTIN  :  a  lawyer. 
HELEN  AUSTIN  :  his  wife. 


SCENE  :  Library  of  the  Austin  home. 
XIME;  2  A.  M. 


THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN 

The  scene  shows  a  luxuriously  furnished  room.  In  the 
centre  is  a  table  with  a  lamp.  To  the  right  is  the 
entrance  into  the  front  hall,  the  front  door  of  the 
house  being  visible.  In  the  corner  is  a  cabinet  of 
curios.  In  the  rear  is  a  large  window  opening  on 
the  street.  Open  fire-place.  There  are  two  en 
trances  at  the  left.  There  are  book-shelves,  several 
easy-chairs,  etc.,  in  the  room. 

At  rise:  The  stage  is  empty,  and  the  room  is  darkened 
except  for  the  fire  in  the  grate.  Sounds  of  break 
ing  wood  are  heard  at  the  window. 

JIM.  [A  roughly-dressed  young  fellow  with  a  patch 
over  one  eye,  enters  through  window,  stands  gazing  about 
nen'ously,  looks  into  the  hall,  etc.,  then  flashes  a  dark  lan 
tern.]  This  looks  pretty  good. 

Goes  to  mantel,  takes  silver  cup  and  puts  it  into 
bag  which  he  carries;  then  exit  left. 
AUSTIN.     [Enters  at  front  door  without  much  noise. 
Hangs  up  coat  and  hat,  and  then  stands  in  entrance.    He 
is  a  smooth-faced  young  man  in  evening  dress.]    All  gone 
to  bed,  hey? 

Takes  out  cigarette  case  and  is  about  to  light  one, 
when  a  crash  is  heard  off  left,  as  of  a  vase  falling. 
He  starts,  then  runs  to  table,  opens  drawer,  takes 
out  revolver,  and  examines  it,  and  steals  off  through 
141 


THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN       [ACT  i 

the    other   entrance   at   left,   saying,   "That   noise 
seemed  to  come  from  downstairs." 
JIM.     [Enters  panic-stricken.']    God!    What  a  thing  to 
do !     [Gases  into  hall  and  upstairs — long  pause.]     Don't 
seem  to  have  waked  them. 

Proceeds  to  examine  room,  stopping  now  and  then 
to  listen.  After  placing  several  articles  in  bag,  he 
goes  to  cabinet  and  tries  to  open  it.  This  takes 
some  time,  and  while  he  is  crouching  in  the  shadow, 
with  his  back  to  the  entrance  right,  MRS.  AUSTIN 
appears. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  [She  is  young  and  beautiful,  and  wears 
a  night-robe  and  dressing-gown.  She  stands  looking  about 
anxiously,  and  then  goes  to  centre  of  room,  when  she 
hears  a  sound  from  JIM,  and  starts  wildly."]  Oh ! 

JIM.     [Leaps  to  feet,  lifting  revolver.']     Hold  up  your 
hands  !    [She  starts  back  in  terror.']    Hold  up  your  hands  ! 
MRS.  AUSTIN.     [Half  comply  ingly.]     I'm  not  armed. 
JIM.     Never  mind.     [Long  pause  while  they  stare  at 
each  other.]    I  don't  want  to  hurt  you,  lady. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     [Calmly,  after  first  shock.]     No,  I  sup 
pose  not.    You  only  want  to  get  away. 
JIM.     That's  right ! 
MRS.  AUSTIN.    Very  well,  you  may  go. 
JIM.     And  you  yell  for  the  police  the  moment  I  get  out 
of  the  door,  hey? 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     No,  I  don't  want  the  police.    I  don't  be 
lieve  in  sending  men  to  jail. 
JIM.     Humph ! 

Another  pause. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     Why  do  you  do  this? 
JIM.     It's  the  way  I  live. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     Isn't  it  a  rather  trying  kind  of  work? 
JIM.     It  ain't  all  play,  ma'am. 
MRS.  AUSTIN.     [Smiling.']     I  should  think  it  would  be 


ACT  i]       THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN  143 

hard  on  the  nerves.  [After  another  pause.]  Is  there  no 
honest  way  you  can  earn  a  living? 

JIM.  I  don't  know.  Maybe  so.  I  got  tired  of  looking 
for  it. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     I  might  help  you  if  you  would  let  me. 

JIM.     I  ain't  asking  any  help. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  No,  but  I'm  offering  it.  [After  a  pause.] 
Have  you  been  doing  this  sort  of  thing  very  long? 

JIM.     No. 

MRS.    AUSTIN.      HOW    long  ? 

JIM.     [After  hesitation.]    This  is  my  first  job. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     What!     You  don't  mean  that? 

JIM.    It  happens  to  be  true,  ma'am. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     What  made  you  do  it? 

JIM.     It's  a  long  story. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    Tell  it  to  me. 

JIM.     It  ain't  just  a  good  time  for  story  telling. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  You  are  afraid  of  me?  I  have  no  quarrel 
with  you.  I  don't  care  anything  for  the  things  you  have 
in  the  bag;  and,  besides,  I  suppose  you  won't  take  them 
now.  I'm  only  sorry  to  see  a  man  going  wrong,  and  I'd 
like  to  help  if  I  could.  I'll  play  fair,  I  give  you  my  word 
of  honor. 

JIM.     There  ain't  much  honor  in  this  business. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  No,  I  suppose  not.  But  you  can  trust  me. 
Put  up  that  gun  and  talk  to  me. 

JIM.     [Surlily.]     It  can't  do  any  good. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  It  can't  do  any  harm.  Put  up  that  re 
volver,  and  tell  me  what's  the  matter. 

JIM.     You'll  let  me  go  when  I  want  to?    No  tricks! 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     I  give  you  my  word. 

JIM.  All  right.  I'm  a  fool,  I  guess,  but  I'll  trust  you. 
[Puts  revolver  in  pocket.']  Sit  down,  ma'am.  It  must  be 
cold  for  you.  This  is  a  queer  kind  of  layout  for  a  burglar. 


144  THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN       [ACT  i 

[Sits  opposite  her.]    You  heard  that  racket  I  made  in  the 
other  room? 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    Yes.    What  was  it? 

JIM.     Some  kind  of  a  jar. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  Oh,  my  Greek  vase.  Well,  never  mind 
...  it  was  an  imitation.  What  were  you  doing? 

JIM.     I  was  looking  for  something  to  eat. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    Oh! 

JIM.  It  would  have  been  the  first  thing  I've  had  since 
the  day  before  yesterday. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    What's  the  matter? 

JIM.  No  work.  [A  pause.']  I  suppose  you'll  give  me 
the  old  gag  .  .  .  there's  plenty  of  work  for  a  man  that's 
willing. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  No,  I  happen  to  have  studied,  and  I  know 
better  than  that.  Else  I  should  have  fainted  when  I  saw 
you  .  .  .  instead  of  sitting  here  talking  to  you.  ...  Do 
you  drink? 

JIM.  Yes,  but  I  didn't  use  to.  Any  man  would  drink 
.  .  .  that  went  through  what  I  did. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    Are  you  married? 

JIM.    Yes  ...  I  was  married.    My  wife  is  dead. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    Any  children  ? 

JIM.    Two.    Both  dead. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    Oh ! 

JIM.  It  ain't  a  pretty  story,  ma'am.  It's  a  poor  man's 
story. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     Tell  it  to  me. 

JIM.  All  right.  It'll  spoil  your  sleep  for  the  rest  of 
the  night,  I  guess,  but  you  can  have  it.  [A  pause.]  A 
year  ago  I  was  what  they  call  an  honest  working  man.  I 
had  a  home  and  a  happy  family ;  and  I  didn't  drink  any  too 
much,  and  I  did  well  .  .  .  even  if  the  work  was  hard.  I 
was  in  the  steel  works  here  in  town. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     [Startled.]    The  Empire  Steel  Company? 


ACT  i]       THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN  ll.> 

JIM.     Yes.     Why? 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  Nothing  .  .  .  only  I  happen  to  know 
some  people  there.  Go  on. 

JIM.  It's  no  child's  work  there,  ma'am.  There's  an 
awful  lot  of  accidents  .  .  .  more  than  the  world  has  any 
idea  of.  I've  seen  a  man  sent  to  hell  in  the  snapping  of  a 
finger.  And  they  don't  treat  them  fair  .  .  .  they  hush 
things  up.  There  are  things  you  wouldn't  believe  if  I  told 
them  to  you. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     Tell  them. 

JIM.  I've  seen  a  man  there  get  caught  in  one  of  the 
cranes.  They  stopped  the  machinery,  but  they  couldn't 
get  him  out.  They'd  have  had  to  take  the  crane  apart,  and 
that  would  have  cost  several  days,  and  it  was  rush  time, 
and  the  man  was  only  a  poor  Hunkie,  and  there  was  no 
one  to  know  or  care.  So  they  started  up  the  crane,  and 
cut  his  leg  off. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     Oh,  horrible  ! 

JIM.  It's  the  sort  of  thing  you  couldn't  believe  unless 
you  saw  it.  But  I  saw  it.  I  didn't  care,  though.  I  was  a 
fool.  And  then  my  time  came. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     How  do  you  mean? 

JIM.  A  blast  furnace  blew  out,  and  a  piece  of  slag  hit 
me  here,  where  you  see  that  patch.  If  it  wasn't  for  the 
patch  you'd  see  something  that  would  make  you  sick.  It 
was  a  pain  you  couldn't  tell  about  ...  it  was  a  couple  of 
days  before  I  knew  where  I  was.  And  the  first  thing 
when  I  came  to  my  senses  ...  in  the  hospital,  it  was 
.  .  .  there  was  a  lawyer  chap  with  a  paper  waiting 
for  me. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     [7n  agitation.']     A  lawyer? 

JIM.  Yes,  ma'am.  Company  representative,  you  know. 
And  I  was  to  sign  the  paper  ...  it  was  a  receipt  for  the 
hospital  expenses  ...  the  operation  and  all  that  .  .  . 
you  see  they  had  to  take  out  what  was  left  of  my  eye. 


146  THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN       [ACT  i 

And  of  course  I  couldn't  see  ...  I  had  to  sign  where 
he  told  me  to.  And  when  I  got  well,  I  found  they  had 
trapped  me  into  signing  a  release. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    A  release? 

JIM.  I  had  accepted  the  hospital  expenses  as  a  release 
for  all  the  company  owed  me.  And  I  couldn't  get  any 
damages  .  .  .  and  my  eye  was  gone,  and  all  the  weeks 
without  any  wages. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    My  God! 

JIM.  And  they  turned  me  out  so  weak  I  could  hardly 
walk;  and  .  .  . 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     [Greatly  excited.]    Who  was  this  man? 

JIM.     Which? 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     This  lawyer? 

JIM.  I  never  heard  his  name.  He  was  a  young  fellow 
.  .  .  handsome  .  .  .  smooth-faced  .  .  . 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     [Whispering.'}     Oh! 

JIM.  Ah,  they  don't  mind  it  ...  they're  smooth.  They 
do  that  all  the  time.  It's  what  they  get  their  pay  for. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  [Covering  her  face  with  her  hands.] 
Oh,  stop! 

JIM.     What's  the  matter? 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  [Looking  up  with  white  face]  Nothing. 
Go  on. 

JIM.  It  was  two  months  before  I  could  work  at  all. 
And  the  rent  came  due,  and  they  turned  us  out  ...  it  was 
winter-time,  and  my  wife  caught  a  cold,  and  it  turned  to 
pneumonia,  and  she  died.  That's  all  of  that. 

MRS.   AUSTIN.      Go  On. 

JIM.  And  then,  you  see,  the  panic  came  .  .  .  and  the 
mills  shut  down  .  .  .  sudden  as  that.  The  lawyer  told 
me  the  company  would  see  I  always  had  a  job,  but  that 
was  only  to  get  me  to  sign. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     [Feverishly]    Did  you  try  him? 


ACT  i]       THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN  147 

JIM.  I  went  to  the  office  and  tried;  but  they  wouldn't 
even  let  me  see  him. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     I  see.    And  then? 

JIM.  Then  I  went  out  to  look  for  work.  I  had  the  two 
babies,  you  know  .  .  .  and  God  only  knows  how  I  loved 
those  babies.  I  said  I'd  fight  and  win  out  for  their  sakes. 
But  Amy  .  .  .  she  was  the  little  one  .  .  .  she  never  had 
been  very  strong.  When  you're  a  poor  man,  you  can't  get 
the  best  food,  even  if  you  know  what  it  is.  It  ain't  fit  milk 
they  sell  for  the  children  in  this  city ;  and  the  baby  died 
...  I  never  knew  what  was  the  matter  exactly.  And 
there  was  only  one  left  .  .  .  and  me  tramping  the  streets 
all  day  looking  for  a  job.  How  was  I  to  take  care  of  him, 
lady  ?  How  could  I  have  helped  it  ?  [His  voice  is  break 
ing  with  emotion.']  And  oh,  ma'am,  he  was  the  loveliest 
little  fellow  .  .  .  with  hair  like  gold.  And  so  well  and 
strong. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     [Whispering.]     What  happened  to  him? 

JIM.    A  street  car  killed  him. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     Oh ! 

JIM.  Run  over  his  chest,  ma'am.  I  came  home  at 
night,  and  they  told  me,  and  I  near  went  out  of  my  mind. 
Can  you  think  what  it  was  to  see  him  .  .  .  with  his  eyes 
starting  out  of  his  head  like,  and  his  beautiful  little  body 
all  mashed  flat  .  .  . 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     [Wildly.]    Oh,  spare  me! 

JIM.  I  told  you  it  wouldn't  be  a  pretty  story.  Do  you 
think  maybe  you  wouldn't  take  to  drink  if  you  saw  a  sight 
like  that?  [Sinking  back.]  Since  then  I've  looked  for 
work,  but  I  haven't  cared  much.  Only  sometimes  I've 
thought  I'd  like  to  meet  that  young  lawyer  .  .  . 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     [Starting  up.]     Oh  ! 

JIM.  Yes,  it  all  began  with  him.  But  I  don't  know  .  .  . 
they'd  only  jug  me.  Anyway,  to-night  I  was  sitting  in  a 
saloon  with  two  fellows  that  I  had  met.  One  of  them  was  a 


148  THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN       [ACT  i 

second-story  man  ...  a  fellow  that  climbs  up  porches  and 
fire-escapes.  And  I  heard  him  telling  about  a  haul  he'd 
made,  and  I  said  to  myself:  "There's  a  job  for  me  ... 
I'll  be  a  second-story  man."  And  I  tried  it  ...  but  you 
see  I  didn't  do  very  well.  I'm  not  good  for  much,  I  guess, 
any  more. 

AUSTIN.  [Enters  left,  revolver  In  hand;  stands  watch 
ing,  unobserved.]  Good  heavens! 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  You  can't  tell.  You  may  have  better 
success  than  you  look  for. 

JIM.  No  ...  there's  nothing  can  help  me.  I'm  for 
the  scrap  heap. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  [Eagerly.]  Wait  and  see.  You  are  a 
man  .  .  .  you  can  be  helped  yet  ... 

AUSTIN.     [Coming  forward]    What  does  this  mean? 

JIM.     [Starts  wildly  and  reaches  for  revolver]     Ha! 

AUSTIN.     [Raising  weapon]     Hold  up  your  hands! 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     [Rushing  forward]     No.    Stop ! 

AUSTIN.    What  do  you  mean? 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     I  say  stop  !    I  promised  him  his  freedom ! 

AUSTIN.     My  dear  .   .   . 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    Give  me  the  weapon. 

AUSTIN.    Why  .   .  . 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  Give  it  to  me.  [Takes  revolver]  Now 
sit  down. 

JIM.  [Has  been  staring  wildly  at  AUSTIN.]  My  God, 
it's  the  lawyer  fellow! 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     Yes,  it  is  he. 

AUSTIN.     What  does  all  this  mean? 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    Look  at  this  man ! 

AUSTIN.     [Staring]    Why? 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     Don't  you  know  him? 

AUSTIN.       No. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  Look  carefully.  [Turns  up  light]  Have 
you  never  seen  him  before? 


ACT  i]       THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN  1  !0 

AUSTIN.     Never  that  I  can  recall.    What  is  his  name? 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     I  don't  know.     [To  JIM.]     What  is  it? 

JIM.  Humph !  [Hesitating.]  He  could  find  out,  any 
way.  Jim  Faraday. 

AUSTIN.     Faraday  ...  it  sounds  familiar. 

JIM.  [Grimly.']  You've  served  the  trick  on  a  good 
many,  I  guess. 

AUSTIN.     [To  MRS.  AUSTIN.]     What  does  he  mean? 

JIM.  Don't  you  remember  the  Sisters'  Hospital?  The 
fellow  that  had  his  eye  burned  out  in  the  big  explosion? 

AUSTIN.     [Startled.]     Oh ! 

JIM.     [Snccringly.]     Ah,  yes! 

AUSTIN.     You  are  the  man? 

JIM.     I'm  the  man. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  Harvey,  you  took  this  man  some  paper 
to  sign. 

AUSTIN.    Yes  ...  I  remember. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     Did  you  tell  him  what  was  in  it? 

AUSTIN.     [Hesitates.]    Why  .   .  . 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     Answer  me,  please. 

AUSTIN.    Why,  my  dear  .   .   . 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     Did  you  tell  him  what  was  in  it? 

AUSTIN.  But,  my  dear,  it  wasn't  my  business  to  tell 
him. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     Oh ! 

AUSTIN.     I  was  representing  the  company. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     I  see. 

AUSTIN.     It  was  his  place  to  see  what  was  in  it. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  Harvey!  This  man  with  one  eye  burned 
out,  and  not  yet  over  the  accident? 

AUSTIN.    My  dear,  you  don't  understand  .   .   . 

JIM.  [Wildly.]  You  didn't  leave  me  to  find  out  for 
myself.  You  lied  to  me ! 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    At  least  you  permitted  him  to  be  misled. 


150  THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN       [ACT  i 

You  did  not  tell  him  the  honest  truth  about  the  paper, 
and  what  would  be  the  effect  if  he  signed  it. 

AUSTIN.  My  dear,  you  do  not  understand.  I  could  not 
have  done  that.  I  was  the  representative  of  the  interests 
of  the  company. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  And  that  is  the  sort  of  work  you  do  for 
them? 

AUSTIN.  That  is  the  sort  of  work  that  has  to  be  done. 
I  cannot  help  it,  much  as  I  would  like  to  ... 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  [Wildly. ~\  You  have  done  that  sort  of 
thing  before.  And  you  will  do  it  again ! 

AUSTIN.    My  dear  .   .   . 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  And  you  take  money  for  it !  You  bring 
that  money  home  to  me!  And  you  never  told  me  how 
you  got  it!  You  make  me  sharer  in  your  guilt! 

AUSTIN.    Helen ! 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  This  was  how  you  earned  your  promo 
tion  !  This  was  what  you  came  to  me  and  boasted  about ! 
This  was  what  we  married  on.  This  money  .  .  .  blood 
money  .  .  .  that  you  get  for  cheating  this  helpless  laborer 
out  of  his  rights  .  .  .  out  of  everything  he  had  in  the 
world ! 

AUSTIN.  My  dear,  you  are  out  of  your  mind.  You  do 
not  understand  business. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  I  understand  it  all  ...  a  child  could 
understand !  It  is  only  you  .  .  .  the  rising  young  lawyer 
.  .  .  that  doesn't  understand !  Harvey,  Harvey  !  Do  you 
know  what  you  have  done  to  this  man  .  .  .  what  you  and 
I  together  have  done  to  him?  We  have  wrecked  his  life! 
We  have  driven  him  to  hell !  We  have  murdered  his  wife 
and  his  two  children.  We  have  turned  him  into  a  tramp 
and  a  criminal.  We  have  climbed  to  success  on  top  of 
him  ...  we  have  made  our  fortune  out  of  his  blood! 
This  house  .  .  .  this  furniture  .  .  .  these  pictures  .  .  . 
all  this  beauty  and  comfort  ...  all  this  we  have  coined 


ACT  i]       THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN  151 

out  of  his  tears  and  agony  .  .  .  out  of  the  lives  of  his 
sick  wife  and  his  two  little  babies!  And  you  have  done 
this  for  me  .  .  .  you  have  made  me  the  cause  of  it  .  .  . 
you  have  put  the  guilt  of  it  upon  my  young  life  .  .  .a 
thing  that  I  must  carry  through  the  world  with  me  until 
I  die! 

AUSTIN.     [Starting  toward  hcr.~\    Helen  ! 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  No!  Don't  touch  me!  Speak  to  him! 
It  is  with  him  you  have  to  do !  What  have  you  to  say  to 
him  ?  Don't  think  about  me  ! 

AUSTIN.     My  dear,  be  reasonable ! 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  What  have  you  to  say  to  him?  That  is 
what  I  want  to  know !  Harvey !  Don't  you  understand 
it  is  your  character  that  is  up  for  judgment? 

AUSTIN.     It  can't  be  as  bad  as  you  say. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     Why  can't  it?     Find  out. 

AUSTIN.     [After  a  long  pause,  turns  to  JIM.]     Faraday. 

JIM.     Well? 

AUSTIN.     Is  what  my  wife  says  true? 

JIM.     It's  true. 

AUSTIN.     You  got  no  damages  from  the  company? 

JIM.  Didn't  you  fix  it  yourself?  What  do  they  pay 
you  for? 

AUSTIN.     And  had  you  no  money  saved? 

JIM.     My  family  had  to  live  on  it. 

AUSTIN.    And  didn't  you  get  your  job  back? 

JIM.    Until  the  shut-down,  I  did. 

AUSTIN.     Oh,  that's  so.    I  forgot  that. 

JIM.    Humph! 

AUSTIN.  That's  too  bad.  I  will  have  to  do  something 
for  you. 

JIM.     Will  that  bring  my  wife  and  babies  back  to  life? 

AUSTIN.  Oh,  your  family  died!  My  God  .  .  .  that's 
terrible!  [A  pause.'}  Faraday,  I  can't  help  that.  What 
can  I  do?  Listen,  man  .  .  .  you  see  how  unhappy  my 


152  THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN       [ACT  i 


wife  is  ...  you  don't  want  to  make  the  thing  impossible 
for  me,  do  you  ? 

JIM.     I  ain't  doing  anything. 

AUSTIN.  Be  reasonable,  and  let  me  atone  for  the  mis 
take.  We'll  say  nothing  about  this  .  .  .  about  to-night. 
We'll  start  over,  and  I'll  see  that  you  get  a  good  job,  and 
a  fair  chance. 

JIM.    Humph ! 

AUSTIN.  Will  you  do  that?  I'm  honestly  sorry  about 
it.  And  perhaps  if  I  can  give  you  some  money  for  a 
start  .  .  . 

Takes  out  purse. 

JIM.  Put  up  your  money.  It  ain't  likely  you've  got  as 
much  there  as  I'd  have  got  from  the  company. 

AUSTIN.  Oh,  is  that  it?  Well,  maybe  that  is  fair. 
I'll  fix  it  up  with  you  on  that  basis. 

JIM.     And  what  about  the  other  fellows,  hey? 

AUSTIN.     The  other  fellows? 

JIM.  That  you've  done  out  the  same  way  you  done  me. 
What  about  Dan  Kearney,  that  lost  his  life  the  day  after 
.  .  .  and  you  and  the  rest  of  the  company  sharks  fixed  it 
«rp  so  that  his  widow  couldn't  prove  how  it  was  that  he 
got  hurt ! 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    Harvey ! 

JIM.  Yes,  ma'am,  they  done  that.  And  it  ain't  the 
first  time  they  done  it,  either  .  .  .  nor  the  last.  And 
they've  bought  juries  .  .  .  and  judges,  too,  I  reckon  .  .  . 
there  ain't  much  work  of  a  dirty  sort  that  the  Empire 
Steel  Company  ain't  tried  in  this  city  .  .  .  and  you  can 
bet  their  smart  young  lawyers  know  all  the  game !  I'm 
sorry  for  you,  lady  .  .  .  you're  white,  and  I'd  be  glad 
to  help  you.  But  I've  seen  too  much  of  the  company 
and  its  ways,  and  I  won't  lie  down  and  lick  its  hand  .  .  . 
not  for  any  money !  I  ain't  so  low  I've  got  the  value  of 
my  wife  and  two  little  babies  figured  out  and  ready  to 


ACT  i]       THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN  153 

hand.     I  reckon  I'll  stay  on  the  outside  of  the  fence  and 
take  my  chances.     I'll   wind  up   in  jail,   I   suppose;  but 
there's  many  a  better  man  than  me  done  the  same.     So  I 
guess  I'll  go,  and  we'll  call  it  off. 
Starts  away. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     Harvey ! 

AUSTIN.    My  dear  .   .   . 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  Is  that  all  you  can  say  to  him  ?  You  will 
let  him  go?  [To  JIM.]  Listen  to  me.  You  are  right. 
We  can  never  undo  what  we  have  done.  We  cannot  re 
pay  you.  But  at  least  we  must  do  what  we  can.  We  can 
not  let  the  evil  go  on.  You  yourself  have  no  right  to  do  it 
.  .  .  you  have  no  right  to  give  up  your  life. 

JIM.  I  see  what  you  mean,  lady;  and  I'm  sorry  for  you. 
I'd  help  you  if  I  could.  But  it's  too  late  ...  I  know  that. 
There  can't  anybody  save  me.  I'm  rotten  .  .  .  I'm  a 
boozer.  I  couldn't  stop  if  I  wanted  to.  And  I  ain't  got 
any  reason  to  want  to.  I  ain't  in  the  running. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.  [Stretching  out  her  arms.]  But  what 
can  I  do? 

JIM.  You  can  look  after  them  that  ain't  down.  Look 
after  them  that  your  husband  and  the  rest  of  the  com 
pany's  sharks  will  do  up  to-morrow. 

MRS.   AUSTIN.       No  ! 

JIM.  Oh,  they'll  do  it !  I  know  what  you  mean  .  .  . 
you'll  make  him  stop  .  .  .  but  they'll  have  another  man  in 
his  place.  It's  a  machine  ...  it  goes  right  on.  Yes,  and 
you  won't  do  as  much  as  you  think  you  will,  either  .  .  . 
you'll  think  it  over,  and  you  won't  go  as  far  as  you  mean 
to  now. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    No!    No ! 

JIM.  Ah,  but  you  can't  help  it  ...  you're  in  the  mill, 
too.  It's  the  class  you  belong  to.  You  can  talk  and 
feel  sorry  .  .  .  but  you  ain't  made  to  do  things.  You 
have  to  have  your  houses  and  your  fine  dresses  .  .  .  and 


THE  SECOND-STORY  MAN       [ACT  i 

you  couldn't  live  without  them,  and  there'd  be  no  use 
your  trying.  And  that  means  you  have  to  live  off  my 
class  .  .  .  you  have  to  ride  on  our  backs.  And  it  don't 
much  matter  which  part  you  ride  on,  as  far  as  I  can  see. 
You'll  make  your  husband  get  a  new  job,  maybe;  but  he'll 
do  the  same  thing  in  another  way  .  .  .  only  you  won't 
find  it  out.  But  any  way  he  gets  his  money  it'll  come  out 
of  me  and  my  kind.  D'ye  see?  I  do  the  work  .  .  .  I'm 
the  man  underneath.  I  make  the  good  things,  and  you 
get  them.  [A  pause.']  Good  luck  to  you. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.     You  are  cruel. 

JIM.  Nothing  of  the  kind.  I've  just  told  you  the  facts. 
I  feel  sorry  for  you.  I'd  do  anything  I  could  for  you. 
[Stretching  out  his  hands.]  See  what  I've  done !  I've 
given  you  your  husband's  life. 

MRS.  AUSTIN.    Oh! 

JIM.  Yes,  just  that.  You've  no  idea  how  many  times 
I  swore  it  ...  that  I'd  kill  him  on  sight  .  .  .  that  I'd 
strangle  the  life  out  of  him,  if  ever  I  laid  eyes  on  him 
again.  I  used  to  sit  when  I  was  half  drunk,  and  brood 
over  it  ...  my  God,  I  even  swore  it  by  the  body 
of  my  little  boy !  And  I've  got  my  gun,  and  you've  taken 
his  away  from  him.  And  I  don't  shoot  him.  [A  pause.] 
1  leave  him  to  you.  [Grimly.]  You  punish  him. 
Exit  right. 

AUSTIN  stretches  out  his  arms  to  his  wife.     She 
sinks  upon  the  table,  burying  her  head. 

CURTAIN 


PRINCE   HAGEN 


CHARACTERS 

(In  order  of  appearance) 

GERALD  ISMAN  :  a  poet. 

MIMI  :  a  Nibelung. 

ALBERICH  :  King  of  the  Nibelungs. 

PRINCE  HAGEN  :  his  grandson. 

MRS.  ISMAN. 

HICKS  :  a  butler. 

MRS.  BAGLEY-WILLIS  :  mistress  of  Society. 

JOHN  ISMAN:  a  railroad  magnate. 

ESTELLE  ISMAN  :  his  daughter. 

PLIMPTON  :  the  coal  baron. 

RUTHERFORD:  lord  of  steel. 

DE  WIGGLESTON  Rices :  cotillon  leader. 

LORD  ALDERDYCE  :  seeing  America. 

CALKINS:  Prince  Hagen's  Secretary. 

NIBELUNGS;  members  of  Society. 

ACT  I 

SCENE  I.     Gerald  Isman's  tent  in  Quebec. 
SCENE  2.     The  Hall  of  State  in  Nibelheim. 

ACT  II 

Library  in  the  Isman  home  on  Fifth  Avenue:  two  years 
later. 

ACT  III 

Conservatory  of  Prince  Hagen's  palace  on  Fifth  Ave 
nue.    The  wind-up  of  the  opening  ball :  four  months  later. 

ACT   IV 

Living   room   in    the    Isman   camp    in    Quebec:    three 
months  later. 


PRINCE  HAGEN 

ACT  I 

SCENE    I 

Shows  a  primeval  forest,  with  great  trees,  thickets  in 
background,  and  moss  and  ferns  underfoot.  A  set 
in  the  foreground.  To  the  left  is  a  tent,  about  ten 
feet  square,  with  a  fly.  The  front  and  sides  are 
rolled  up,  showing  a  rubber  blanket  spread,  with 
bedding  upon  it;  a  rough  stand,  with  books  and 
some  canned  goods,  a  rifle,  a  fishing-rod,  etc.  To 
ward  centre  is  a  trench  with  the  remains  of  a  fire 
smoldering  in  it,  and  a  frying  pan  and  some  soiled 
dishes  beside  it.  There  is  a  log,  used  as  a  seat,  and 
near  it  are  several  books,  a  bound  volume  of  music 
lying  open,  and  a  violin  case  with  violin.  To  the 
right  is  a  rocky  wall,  with  a  cleft  suggesting  a 
grotto. 

At  rise:  GERALD  pottering  about  his  fire,  which  is  burn 
ing  badly,  mainly  because  he  is  giving  most  of  his 
attention  to  a  bound  volume  of  music  zvhich  he  has 
open.  He  is  a  young  man  of  twenty-two,  with 
wavy  auburn  hair;  wears  old  corduroy  trousers 
and  a  grey  flannel  shirt,  open  at  the  throat.  He 
stirs  the  fire,  then  takes  violin  and  plays  the  Nibe- 
lung  theme  with  gusto. 

GERALD.     A  plague  on  that  fire !     I  think  I'll  make  my 
supper  on  prunes  and  crackers  to-night! 
Pla\x  again. 

157 


158  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  i 

MIMI.  {Enters  left,  disguised  as  a  pack-peddler;  a  lit 
tle  wizened  up  man,  with  long,  unkempt  grey  hair  and 
beard,  and  a  heavy  bundle  on  his  back.~\  Good  evening, 
sir! 

GERALD.     [Starts.]     Hello ! 

MIMI.     Good  evening! 

GERALD.     Why  .  .  .  who  are  you? 

MIMI.     Can  you  tell  me  how  I  find  the  road,  sir? 

GERALD.     Where  do  you  want  to  go? 

MIMI.     To  the  railroad. 

GERALD.     Oh,  I  see !     You  got  lost  ? 

MIMI.     Yes,  sir. 

GERALD.  [Points.']  You  should  have  turned  to  the  right 
down  where  the  roads  cross. 

MIMI.    Oh.    That's  it! 

Puts  down  burden  and  sighs. 

GERALD.  Are  you  expecting  to  get  to  the  railroad 
to-night? 

MIMI.     Yes,  sir. 

GERALD.  Humph!  You'll  find  it  hard  going.  Better 
rest.  [Looks  him  over,  curiously.]  What  are  you — a 
peddler  ? 

MIMI.     I    sell    things.       Nice   things,    sir.      You   buy? 
Starts  to  open  pack. 

GERALD.     No.     I  don't  want  anything. 

MIMI.     [Gazing  about.]    You  live  here  all  alone? 

GERALD.     Yes  ...  all  alone. 

MIMI.     [Looking  off  left.]    Who  lives  in  the  big  house? 

GERALD.     That's  my  father's  camp. 

MIMI.     Humph!    Nobody  in  there? 

GERALD.     The  family  hasn't  come  up  yet. 

MIMI.     Why  don't  you  live  there? 

GERALD.     I'm  camping  out — I  prefer  the  tent. 

MIMI.     Humph!     Who's  your  father? 

GERALD.     John  Isman's  his  name. 


ACT  i]  PRINCE  HAGEN  159 

MIMI.     Rich  man,  hey? 

GERALD.     Why  .  .  .  yes.     Fairly  so. 

MIMI.     I  see  people  here  last  year. 

GERALD.     Oh!    You've  been  here  before? 

MIMI.  Yes.  I  been  here.  1  see  young  lady.  Very 
beautiful ! 

GERALD.     That's  my  sister,  I  guess. 

MIMI.     Your  sister.    What  you  call  her? 

GERALD.    Her  name's  Estelle. 

MIMI.     Estelle!     And  what's  your  name? 

GERALD.     I'm  Gerald  Isman. 

MIMI.  Humph!  [Looking  about,  sees  violin.]  You 
play  music,  hey? 

GERALD.     Yes. 

MIMI.     You  play  so  very  bad? 

GERALD.  [Laughs.']  Why  .  .  .  what  makes  you  think 
that? 

MIMI.     You  come  "way  off  by  yourself ! 

GERALD.     Oh  !    I  see  !    No  ...  I  like  to  be  alone. 

MIMI.     I  hear  you  playing  „  .  .  nice  tune. 

GERALD.     Yes.    You  like  music? 

MIMI.  Sometimes.  You  play  little  quick  tune  ...  so? 
Hums. 

GERALD.     [Plays  Nibelung  theme.']    This? 

MIMI.     [Eagerly.]    Yes.    Where  you  learn  that? 

GERALD.     That's  the  Nibelung  music. 

MIMI.     Nibelung  music!     Where  you  hear  it? 

GERALD.     Why  .  .  .  it's  in  an  opera. 

MIMI.     An  opera? 

GERALD.     It's  by  a  composer  named  Wagner. 

MIMI.     Where  he  hear  it? 

GERALD.     [Laughs.']     Why  ...  I  guess  he  made  it  up. 

MIMI.     What's  it  about?    Hey? 

GERALD.    It's  about  the  Nibelungs. 

MIMI.     Nibelungs  ? 


160  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  i 

GERALD.  Queer  little  people  who  live  down  inside  the 
earth,  and  spend  all  their  time  digging  for  gold. 

MIMI.     Ha!    You  believe  in  such  people? 

GERALD.     [Amiised.]     Why  ...  I  don't  know   .    .    . 

MIMI.     You  ever  see  them? 

GERALD.     No  ...  but  the  poets  tell  us  they  exist. 

MIMI.  The  poets,  hey?  What  they  tell  you  about 
them? 

GERALD.  Well,  they  have  great  rocky  caverns,  down  in 
the  depths  of  the  earth.  And  they  have  treasures  of  gold 
.  .  .  whole  caves  of  it.  And  they're  very  cunning  smiths 
.  .  .  they  make  all  sorts  of  beautiful  golden  vessels  and 
trinkets. 

MIMI.  Trinkets,  hey !  [Reaches  into  bundle.]  Like 
this,  hey? 

Holds  up  a  gold  cup. 

GERALD.     [Surprised.]     Oh ! 

MIMI.     Or  this,  hey? 

GERALD.     Why  .  .  .  where  did  you  get  such  things? 

MIMI.     Ha,  ha!     You  don't  know  what  I  got! 

GERALD.     Let  me  see  them. 

MIMI.  You  think  the  Nibelungs  can  beat  that,  hey? 
[Reaches  into  bag.]  Maybe  I  sell  you  this  cap!  [Takes 
out  a  little  cap  of  woven  gold  chains.']  A  magic  cap,  hey  ? 

GERALD.     [Astounded.]    Why  .  .  .  what  is  it? 

MIMI.  [Puts  it  on  his  head.]  You  wear  it  ...  so. 
And  you  play  Nibelung  music,  and  you  vanish  from  sight 
.  .  .  nobody  finds  you.  Or  I  sell  you  the  magic  ring  .  .  . 
you  wear  that  .  .  .  [Hands  it  to  GERALD.]  Put  it  on  your 
finger  ...  so.  Now  you  play,  and  the  Nibelungs  come 
.  .  .  they  dance  about  in  the  woods  .  .  .  they  bring  you 
gold  treasures  .  .  .  ha,  ha,  ha !  [Amused  at  GERALD'S  per 
plexity.']  What  you  think  they  look  like,  hey?  .  .  .  those 
Nibelungs ! 

GERALD.    Why  ...  I  don't  know  .   .   . 


ACT  i]  PRINCE  HAGEN  161 

MIMI.     What  do  your  poets  tell  you?  ha? 

GERALD.  Why  .  .  .  they're  little  men  .  .  .  with  long 
hair  and  funny  clothes  .  .  .  and  humpbacked. 

MIMI.     Look  like  me,  hey? 

GERALD.     [Embarrassed.]    Why  .  .  .  yes  ...  in  a  way. 

MIMI.     What  are  their  names? 

GERALD.     Their  names? 

MIMI.     Yes  .  .  .  what  ones  do  you  know  about? 

GERALD.     Well,  there  was  Alberich,  the  king. 

MIMI.    Alberich ! 

GERALD.  He  was  the  one  who  found  the  Rheingold. 
And  then  there  was  Hagen,  his  son. 

MIMI.     Hagen! 

GERALD.     He  killed  the  hero,  Siegfried. 

MIMI.     Yes,  yes ! 

GERALD.     And  then  there  was  Mimi. 

MIMI.    Ah !     Mimi ! 

GERALD.     He  was  a  very  famous  smith. 

MIMI.  [Eagerly.']  You  know  all  about  them !  Some 
body  has  been  there ! 

GERALD.     What  do  you  mean  ? 

MIMI.    Would  you  like  to  see  those  Nibelungs? 

GERALD.     [Laughing.']    Why  ...  I  wouldn't  mind. 

MIMI.  You  would  like  to  see  them  dancing  in  the  moon 
light,  and  hear  the  clatter  of  their  trinkets  and  shields? 
You  would  like  to  meet  old  King  Alberich,  and  Mimi  the 
smith?  You  would  like  to  see  that  cavern  yawn  open  .  .  . 
[points  to  right]  and  fire  and  steam  break  forth,  and  all 
the  Nibelungs  come  running  out?  Would  you  like  that? 
ha? 

GERALD.     Indeed  I  would! 

MIMI.     You  wouldn't  be  afraid? 

GERALD.     No,  I  don't  think  so. 

MIMI.     But  are  you  sure? 

GERALD.    Yes  .     .  sure! 


162  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  i 

MIMI.  All  right !  You  wear  my  magic  ring !  You 
wait  till  night  comes  !  Then  you  play !  [Puts  away  trin 
kets.']  I  must  go  now. 

GERALD.    {Perplexed.'}   What  do  you  want  for  your  ring? 

MIMI.     It  is  not  for  sale.     I  give  it. 

GERALD.     What ! 

MIMI.  Money  could  not  buy  it.  {Takes  up  pack.']  I 
came  to  you  because  you  play  that  music. 

GERALD.    But  I  can't  ...  it  ... 

MIMI.  It  is  yours  .  .  .  you  are  a  poet!  [Starts  left.] 
Is  this  the  way? 

GERALD.     Yes.     But  I  don't  like  to  ... 

MIMI.     Keep  it !    You  will  see  !     Good-bye  ! 

GERALD.     But  wait! 

MIMI.     It   is   late.    I   must   go.    Good-night. 
Exit  left. 

GERALD.  Good-night.  {Stands  staring.']  Well,  I'll  be 
switched !  If  that  wasn't  a  queer  old  customer !  {Looks 
at  ring.]  It  feels  like  real  gold !  [Peers  after  MIMI.] 
What  in  the  world  did  he  mean,  anyhow?  The  magic 
ring !  I  hope  he  doesn't  get  lost  in  those  woods  to-night. 
[Turns  to  fire.]  Confound  that  fire!  It's  out  for  good 
now !  Let  it  go.  [Sits,  and  takes  music  score.]  Nibe- 
lungs !  They  are  realer  than  anybody  guesses.  People 
who  spend  their  lives  in  digging  for  gold,  and  know  and 
care  about  nothing  else.  How  many  of  them  I've  met 
at  mother's  dinner  parties !  Well,  I  must  get  to  my  work 
now.  [Makes  a  few  notes;  then  looks  up  and  stretches.] 
Ah,  me !  I  don't  know  what  makes  me  so  lazy  this  eve 
ning.  This  strange  heaviness !  There  seems  to  be  a  spell 
on  me.  [Gazes  about.]  How  beautiful  these  woods  are 
at  sunset !  If  I  were  a  Nibelung,  I'd  come  here  for  cer 
tain  !  [Settles  himself,  reclining ;  shadows  begin  to  fall; 
music  from  orchestra.]  I'm  good  for  nothing  but  dream- 


ACT  i]  PRINCE  HAGEN  163 

ing  ...  I  wish  Estelle  were  here  to  sing  to  me!     How 
magical  the  twilight  is!     Estelle!     Estelle! 

He  lies  motionless;  music  dies  arcv/v.  and  there  is 
a  long  silence.  The  forest  is  dark,  with  gleams  of 
moonlight.  Suddenly  there  is  a  faint  note  of  music 
.  .  .  the  Nibelung  theme.  After  a  silence  it  is 
repeated;  then  again.  Several  instruments  take  it 
up.  It  swells  louder.  Vague  forms  are  seen  flitting 
here  and  there.  Shadows  move. 

GERALD.  [Starting  up  suddenly.]  What's  that?  [Si 
lence;  then  the  note  is  heard  again,  very  faint.  He  starts. 
It  is  heard  again,  and  he  springs  to  his  feet.]  What's 
that?  [Again  and  again.  He  runs  to  his  violin,  picks  it 
up.  and  stares  at  it.  Still  the  notes  are  heard,  and  he 
puts  down  the  violin,  and  runs  down  stage,  listening.] 
Why,  what  can  it  mean?  [As  the  music  grows  louder  his 
perplexity  and  alarm  increase.  Suddenly  he  sees  a  figure 
stealing  through  the  shadows,  and  he  springs  back, 
aghast.]  Why,  it's  a  Nibelung!  [Another  figure  passes.] 
Oh  !  I  must  be  dreaming !  [Several  more  appear.]  Nibe- 
lungs  !  Why,  it's  absurd !  Wake  up,  man  !  You're  going 
crazy !  [Music  swells  louder;  figures  appear,  carrying 
gold  shields,  chains,  etc.,  with  clatter.]  My  God ! 

He  stands  with  hands  clasped  to  his  forehead,  while 
the  uproar  swells  louder  and  louder,  and  the  forms 
become  more  numerous.  He  rushes  down  stage, 
and  the  Nibelungs  surround  him.  dancing  about  him 
in  wild  career,  laughing,  screaming,  jeering.  They 
begin  to  pinch  his  legs  behind  his  back,  and  he  leaps 
here  and  there,  crying  out.  Gradually  they  drive 
him  toward  the  grotto,  which  opens  before  them. 
revealing  a  black  chasm,  emitting  clouds  of  steam. 
They  rush  in  and  are  enveloped  in  the  mist.  Sounds 
of  falling  and  crashing  are  heard.  The  steam 
spreads,  gradually  veiling  the  front  of  the  stage. 


164  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  i 

Nets  rise  with  the  steam,  giving  the  effect  of  a 
descent.  During  this  change  the  orchestra  plays 
the  music  between  Scenes  II  and  HI  in  Das  Rhein- 
gold. 

SCENE  II 

Nibelheim:  a  vast  rocky  cavern.  Right  centre  is  a  large 
gold  throne,  and  to  the  right  of  that  an  entrance 
through  a  great  tunnel.  Entrances  from  the  sides 
also.  At  the  left  is  a  large  golden  vase  upon  a 
stand,  and  near  it  lie  piles  of  golden  utensils,  shields, 
etc.  Left  centre  is  a  heavy  iron  door,  opening  into 
a  vault.  Throughout  this  scene  there  is  a  sugges 
tion  of  music,  rising  into  full  orchestra  at  signifi 
cant  moments.  The  voices  of  the  Nibelungs  are 
accompanied  by  stopped  trumpets  and  other  weird 
sounds. 

At  rise:  The  stage  is  dark.  A  faint  light  spreads.  A 
company  of  Nibelungs  crosses  from  right  to  left, 
carrying  trinkets  and  treasures.  Clatter  of  shields, 
crack  of  whips,  music,  etc.  Another  company  of 
Nibelungs  runs  in  left. 

FIRST  NIB.     [Entering.'}    The  earth-man  has  come! 
SECOND  NIB.     Where  is  he? 
FIRST  NIB.     He  is  with  Mimi ! 
SECOND  NIB.     What  is  he  like? 

FIRST  NIB.     He  is  big!     [With  a  gesiure  of  fright.] 
Terrible ! 

THIRD  NIB.      Ah  ! 

SECOND  NIB.     And  the  king?    Does  he  know? 
FIRST  NIB.     He  has  been  told. 
THIRD  NIB.     Where  is  the  king? 
FIRST  NIB.    He  comes  !    He  comes  ! 

The  orchestra  plays  the  Fasolt  and  Fafnir  music, 


ACT  i]  PRINCE  HAGEN  165 

Rheingold,  Scene  II.  Enter  a  company  of  Nibe- 
lungs,  armed  with  whips,  and  marching  with  a 
stately  tread.  They  post  themselves  about  the  apart 
ment.  Enter  another  company  supporting  KING 
ALBERICH.  He  is  grey-haired  and  very  feeble,  but 
•ferocious-looking,  and  somewhat  taller  than  the 
others.  His  robe  is  lined  with  ermine,  and  he  car 
ries  a  gold  Nibelung  whip — a  short  handle  of  gold, 
with  leather  thongs.  He  seats  himself  upon  the 
throne,  and  all  make  obeisance.  A  solemn  pause. 

ALBERICH.     The  earth-man  has  come? 

FIRST  NIB.     Yes,  your  majesty! 

ALB.     Where  is  Mimi  ? 

ALL.     Mimi !    Mimi ! 

The  call  is  repeated  off. 

MIMI.     [Enters  left.']     Your  majesty. 

ALB.     Where  is  the  earth-man? 

MIMI.     He  is  safe,  your  majesty. 

ALB.     Did  he  resist? 

MIMI.     I  have  brought  him,  your  majesty. 

ALB.     And  Prince  Hagen?    Has  he  come? 

MIMI.     He  is  without,  your  majesty. 

ALB.     Let  him  be  brought  in. 
All  cry  out  in  terror. 

MIMI.     Your  majesty.     He  is  wild!     He  fights   with 
everyone !     He  .  .  . 

ALB.     Let  him  be  brought  in. 

ALL.     Prince  Hagen  !  Prince  Hagen ! 

MIMI.     [Calling.]     Prince  Hagen ! 

Some  run  out.  The  call  is  heard  off.  All  stand 
waiting  in  tense  expectation.  The  music  plays  the 
Hagen  motives,  with  suggestions  of  the  Siegfried 
funeral  march.  Voices  are  heard  in  the  distance, 
and  at  the  climax  of  the  music  PRINCE  HAGEN  and 
his  keepers  enter.  He  is  small  for  a  man,  but  larger 


166  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  i 

than  any  of  the  Nibelungs;  a  grim,  sinister  figure, 
with  black  hair,  and  a  glowering  look.  His  hands 
are  chained  in  front  of  him,  and  eight  Nibelungs 
march  as  a  guard.  He  has  bare  arms  and  limbs, 
and  a  rough  black  bearskin  Hung  over  his  shoulders. 
He  enters  right,  and  stands  glaring  from  one  to 
another. 

ALB.     Good  evening,  Hagen. 
HAGEN.     [After  a  pause."]     Well? 

ALB.     [Hesitating.]     Hagen,  you  are   still  angry  and 
rebellious  ? 

HAGEN.     I  am! 

ALB.     [Pleading.]     Hagen,  you  are  my  grandson.   You 
are  my  sole  heir  .  .  .  the  only  representative  of  my  line. 
You  are  all  that  I  have  in  the  world! 
HAGEN.    Well? 

ALB.     You  place  me  in  such  a  trying  position!     Have 
you  no  shame  ...  no  conscience?     Why,  some  day  you 
will  be  king  .  .  .  and  one  cannot  keep  a  king  in  chains ! 
HAGEN.     I  do  not  want  to  be  in  chains ! 
ALB.     But,  Hagen,  your  conduct  is  such  .  .  .  what  can 
I  do?     You  have  robbed  .  .  .  you  have  threatened  mur 
der  !     And  you  ...  my  grandson  and  my  heir  .  .  . 
HAGEN.     Have  you  sent  for  me  to  preach  at  me  again? 
ALB.     Hagen,   this   stranger  ...  he  has  come  to  visit 
us  from  the  world  above.     These  earth-men  know  more 
than  we  ...  they  have  greater  powers  .  .  , 

He  hesitates. 

HAGEN.     What  is  all  that  to  me? 

ALB.     You  know  that  you  yourself  are  three-quarters 
an  earth-man  .  .  . 

HAGEN.     I  know  it.     [With  a  passionate  gesture.]    But 
I  am  in  chains ! 

ALB.     There   may  be  a   way   of  your   having  another 
chance.    Perhaps  this  stranger  will  teach  you.    If  you  will 


ACT  i]  PRINCE  HAGEN  167 

promise  to  obey  him,  he  will  stay  with  you  ...  he  will 
be  your  tutor,  and  show  you  the  ways  of  the  earth- 
men. 

HAGEN.     No ! 

ALB.     What  ? 

HAGEN.     I  will  not  have  it! 

ALB.     Hagen ! 

HAGEN.  I  will  not  have  it,  I  say !  Why  did  you  not 
consult  me? 

ALB.     But  what  is  your  objection  .  .  . 

HAGEN.  I  will  not  obey  an  earth-man !  I  will  not  obey 
anyone ! 

ALB.     But  he  will  teach  you  .  .  . 

HAGEN.  I  do  not  want  to  be  taught.  I  want  to  be  let 
alone  !  Take  off  these  chains  ! 

ALB.     [Half  rising.]    Hagen  !    I  insist  .  .  . 

HAGEN.  Take  them  off,  I  say !  You  cannot  conquer 
me  .  .  .  you  cannot  trick  me ! 

ALB.     [Angrily.]     Take  him  away ! 

The  Nibclungs  seize  hold  of  him  to  hustle  him  off. 

HAGEN.     I  will  not  obey  him !     Mark  what  I  say  ...  I 
will  kill  him.    Yes !     I  will  kill  him  ! 
He  is  dragged  off  protesting. 

ALB.  [Sits,  his  head  bowed  ivith  grief,  until  the  uproar 
dies  away;  then,  looking  up.']  Mimi ! 

MIMI.     Yes,  your  majesty. 

ALB.     Let  the  earth-man  be  brought. 

MIMI.     Yes,  your  majesty! 

ALL.     The  earth-man  !    The  earth-man  ! 

The  call  is  heard  as  before.  GERALD  is  brought  on; 
the  orchestra  plays  a  beautiful  melody,  violins  and 
horns.  MIMI  moves  left  to  meet  him. 

GERALD.  [Enters  left  with  attendants;  hesitating, 
gazing  about  in  wonder.  He  sees  MIMI,  and  stops;  a 
pause.]  The  pack  peddler  ! 


168  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  i 

MIMI.    The  pack  peddler  ! 

GER.     And  these  are  Nibelungs? 

MIMI.    You  call  us  that. 

GER.  [Laughing  nervously.]  You  ...  er  ...  it's  a 
little  disconcerting,  you  know.  I  had  no  idea  you  existed. 
May  I  ask  your  name? 

MIMI.     I  am  Mimi. 

GER.  Mimi!  Mimi,  the  smith?  And  may  I  ask  .  .  . 
are  you  real,  or  is  this  a  dream? 

MIMI.     Is  not  life  a  dream? 

GER.     Yes  .  .  .  but  .  .  . 

MIMI.  It  is  a  story.  You  have  to  pretend  that  it  is 
true. 

GER.     I  see! 

MIMI.  You  pretend  that  it  is  true  .  .  .  and  then  you 
see  what  happens  !  It  is  very  interesting  ! 

GER.  Yes  ...  I  have  no  doubt.  [Peers  at  him.']  And 
just  to  help  me  straighten  things  out  .  .  .  would  you  mind 
telling  me  .  .  .  are  you  old  or  young? 

MIMI.     I  am  young. 

GER.     How  young? 

MIMI.     Nine  hundred  years  young. 

GER.     Oh  !    And  why  did  you  come  for  me  ? 

MIMI.     The  king  commanded  it. 

GER.     The  king?    And  who  may  this  king  be? 

MIMI.     King  Alberich. 

GER.     Alberich.     [Stares  at  the  king.']    And  is  this  he? 

MIMI.     It  is  he. 

GER.     And  may  I  speak  to  him? 

MIMI.     You  may. 

ALB.     Let  the  earth-man  advance.    Hail ! 

GER.     Good  evening,  Alberich. 

MIMI.     [At  his  elbow.']    Your  majesty! 

GER.     Good  evening,  your  majesty. 


ACT  il  1'KINCK  IIAGEN  169 

ALB.  [After  a  long  gaze.]  You  play  our  music.  Where 
did  you  learn  it? 

GER.  Why  .  .  .  it's  in  Wagner's  operas.  He  composed 
it. 

ALB.     Humph  .  .  .  composed  it ! 

GER.     [Aghast.]    You  mean  he  came  and  copied  it ! 

ALB.     Of  course! 

GER.    Why  .  .  .  why  ...  we  all  thought  it  was  original ! 

ALB.  Original !  It  is  indeed  wonderful  originality  !  To 
listen  in  the  Rhine-depths  to  the  song  of  the  maidens,  to 
dwell  in  the  forest  and  steal  its  murmurs,  to  catch  the 
crackling  of  the  fire  and  the  flowing  of  the  water,  the 
galloping  of  the  wind  and  the  death  march  of  the  thun 
der  .  .  .  and  then  write  it  all  down  for  your  own !  To 
take  our  story  and  tell  it  just  as  it  happened  ...  to  take 
the  very  words  from  our  lips,  and  sign  your  name  to  them  ! 
Originality ! 

GER.  But,  your  majesty,  one  thing  at  least.  Even  his 
enemies  granted  him  that!  He  invented  the  invisible 
orchestra ! 

ALB.     [Laughing.']     Have  you  seen  any  orchestra  here? 
Siegfried  motive  sounds. 

GER.  I  hadn't  realized  it !  Do  you  mean  that  everything 
here  happens  to  music? 

ALB.  If  you  only  had  the  ears  to  hear,  you  would  know 
that  the  whole  world  happens  to  music. 

GER.     [Stands  entranced.']     Listen !     Listen ! 

ALB.     It  is  very  monotonous,  when  one  is  digging  out 
the  gold.    It  keeps  up  such  a  wheezing  and  pounding. 
Stopped  trumpets  from  orchestra. 

GER.  Ah,  don't  speak  of  such  things !  [Gases  about; 
sees  cup.']  What  is  this? 

ALB.     That  is  the  coronation  cup. 

GER.     The  coronation  cup? 

ALB.     One  of  the  greatest  of  our  treasures.    It  is  worth 


170  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  i 

over  four  hundred  thousand  dollars.  It  is  the  work  of  the 
elder  Mimi,  a  most  wonderful  smith. 

GER.     [Advancing.]    May  I  look  at  it? 

ALB.     You  will  observe  the  design  of  the  Rhine  maidens. 

GER.  I  can't  see  it  here.  It's  too  dark.  Let  me  have  a 
candle. 

MIMI.     A  candle? 

ALL.    A  candle ! 

ALB.  My  dear  sir !  Candles  are  so  expensive !  And 
why  do  you  want  to  see  it?  We  never  look  at  our  art 
treasures. 

GER.     Never  look  at  them  ! 

ALB.  No.  We  know  what  they  are  worth,  and  every 
one  else  knows;  and  what  difference  does  it  make  how 
they  look? 

GER.    Oh,  I  see ! 

ALB.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  our  vaults  of  gold? 
[Great  excitement  among  the  Nibelungs.  The  music 
makes  a  furious  uproar.  ALBERICH  gives  a  great  key  to 
MIMI,  who  opens  the  iron  doors.~\  Approach,  sir. 

MIMI.     Hear  the  echoes.     [Shouts.'] 

GER.    It  must  be  a  vast  place ! 

ALB.  This  particular  cavern  runs  for  seventeen  miles 
under  the  earth. 

GER.     What!    And  you  mean  it  is  all  full  of  gold? 

ALB.     From  floor  to  roof  with  solid  masses  of  it. 

GER.     Incredible!     Is  it  all  of  the  Nibelung  treasure? 

ALB.  All?  Mercy,  no!  This  is  simply  my  own,  and 
I  am  by  no  means  a  rich  man.  The  extent  of  some  of 
our  modern  fortunes  would  simply  exceed  your  belief.  We 
live  in  an  age  of  enormous  productivity.  [After  a  pause.] 
Will  you  see  more  of  the  vault? 

GER.  No,  I  thank  you.  [They  close  it.]  It  must  be  get 
ting  late;  and,  by  the  way,  your  majesty,  you  know  that 
no  one  has  told  me  yet  .why  you  had  me  brought  here. 


ACT  i]  PRINCE  HAGEN  171 

ALB.  Ah,  yes,  sure  enough.  We  have  business  to  talk 
about.  Let  us  get  to  it!  [To  MIMI.]  Let  the  hall  be 
cleared.  [MIMI  drives  out  the  Nibdungs  and  retires.] 
Sit  on  this  rock  here  beside  me.  [Confidentially."]  Now 
we  can  talk  things  over.  I  trust  you  are  willing  to  listen 
to  me. 

GER.     Most  certainly.     I  am  very  much  interested. 

ALB.  Thank  you.  You  know,  my  dear  sir,  that  I  had 
a  son,  Hagen,  who  was  the  slayer  of  the  great  hero, 
Siegfried? 

GER.     Yes,  your  majesty. 

ALB.  A  most  lamentable  affair.  You  did  not  know, 
I  presume,  that  Hagen,  too,  had  a  son,  by  one  of  the 
daughters  of  earth? 

GER.     No.     He  is  not  mentioned  in  history. 

ALB.  That  son,  Prince  Hagen,  is  now  living;  and,  in 
the  course  of  events,  he  will  fall  heir  to  the  throne  I 
occupy. 

GER.     I  see. 

ALB.  The  boy  is  seven  or  eight  hundred  years  old, 
which,  in  your  measure,  would  make  him  about  eighteen. 
Now,  I  speak  frankly.  The  boy  is  wild  and  unruly.  He 
needs  guidance  and  occupation.  And  I  have  sent  for 
you  because  I  understand  that  you  earth-people  think 
more  and  see  farther  than  we  do. 

GER.     Yes? 

ALB.  I  wish  to  ask  you  to  help  me  ...  to  use  your 
strength  of  mind  and  body  to  direct  this  boy. 

GER.     But  what  can  I  do? 

ALB.  I  wish  you  to  stay  here  and  be  Prince  Hagen's 
tutor. 

GER.     What? 

ALB.  [Anxiously. ,]  If  you  will  do  it,  sir,  you  will  carry 
hence  a  treasure  such  as  the  world  has  never  seen  before. 
And  it  is  a  noble  work  ...  a  great  work,  sir.  He  is 


172  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  i 

the  grandson  of  a  king!     Tell  me  ...   will  you  help 
me? 

Gazes  imploringly. 

GER.  Let  me  think.  [A  pause.]  Your  majesty,  I  have 
things  of  importance  to  do,  and  I  have  no  time  to  stay 
here  .  .  . 

ALB.     But  think  of  the  treasures ! 

GER.  My  father  is  a  rich  man,  and  I  have  no  need  of 
treasures.  And  besides,  I  am  a  poet.  I  have  work  of  my 
own  .  .  . 

ALB.     Oh  !  don't  refuse  me,  sir ! 

GER.  Listen !  There  is,  perhaps,  something  else  we 
can  do.  How  would  it  do  to  take  Prince  Hagen  up  to 
the  world? 

ALB.     [Starting.']    Oh ! 

GER.  This  world  is  a  small  one.  There  he  might  have 
a  wide  field  for  his  energies.  He  might  be  sent  to  a  good 
school,  and  taught  the  ideals  of  our  Christian  civilization. 

ALB.  [Pondering  anxiously.]  You  mean  that  you  your 
self  would  see  to  it  that  proper  care  was  given  to  him? 

GER.  If  I  took  him  with  me  it  would  mean  that  I  was 
interested  in  his  future. 

ALB.  It  is  a  startling  proposition.  What  opportunity 
can  you  offer  him? 

GER.  I  am  only  a  student  myself.  But  my  father  is  a 
man  of  importance  in  the  world. 

ALB.     What  does  he  do? 

GER.    He  is  John  Isman.  They  call  him  the  railroad  king. 

ALB.     You  have  kings  in  your  world,  also ! 

GER.     [Smiling.]     After  a  fashion  .  .  .  yes. 

ALB.  I  had  not  thought  of  this.  I  hardly  know  what 
to  reply.  [He  starts.]  What  is  that? 

An  uproar  is  heard  off  left.  Shotits  and  cries;  music 
rises  to  deafening  climax.  Nibelungs  flee  on  in 
terror. 


ACT  i]  PRINCE  HAGEN  173 

HAGEN.  [Rushes  on,  struggling  wildly,  and  dragging 
several  Nibelungs.]  Let  me  go,  I  say !  Take  off  these 
chains ! 

ALB.     [Rising  in  seat.]    Hagen  ! 

HAGEN.     I  will  not  stand  it,  I  tell  you ! 

ALB.     Hagen  !    Listen  to  me ! 

HAGEN.     No ! 

ALB.  I  have  something  new  to  tell  you.  The  earth- 
man  has  suggested  taking  you  up  with  him  to  the  world. 

HAGEN.  [A  sudden  wild  expression  flashes  across  his 
features.']  No !  [He  gases  from  one  to  the  other ,  half 
beside  himself.]  You  can't  mean  it ! 

ALB.     It  is  true,  Hagen. 

HAGEN.     What  .  .  .  why  .  .  . 

ALB.  You  would  be  sent  to  school  and  taught  the  ways 
of  the  earth-men.  Do  you  think  that  you  would  like  to  go? 

HAGEN.     [Wildly.]     By  the  gods!     I  would! 

ALB.     [Nervously.]     You  will  promise  to  obey  .  .  . 

HAGEN.     I'll  promise  anything!    I'll  do  anything! 

ALB.  Hagen,  this  is  a  very  grave  decision  for  me.  It 
is  such  an  unusual  step !  You  would  have  to  submit  your 
self  to  this  gentleman,  who  is  kind  enough  to  take  charge 
of  you  .  .  . 

HAGEN.  I  will !  I  will !  Quick !  [Holding  out  his 
chains.]  Take  them  off! 

ALB.     [Doubtfully.]     We  can  trust  you? 

HAGEN.  You  can  trust  me !  You'll  have  no  trouble. 
Take  them  off! 

ALB.     Off  with  them  ! 

MIMI.  [Advances  and  proceeds  to  work  at  chains  with 
a  file.]  Yes,  your  majesty. 

HAGEN.    [To  GERALD.]    Tell  me!    What  am  I  to  do? 

GER.     You  are  to  have  an  education  .  .  . 

HAGEN.  Yes?  What's  it  like?  Tell  me  more  about 
the  earth-people. 


174  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  i 

GER.  It's  too  much  to  try  to  tell.  You  will  be  there 
soon. 

HAGEN.  Ah  !  Be  quick  there !  [Tears  one  hand  free 
and  waves  it.]  By  the  gods  ! 

ALB.  [To  GERALD.]  You  had  best  spend  the  night  with 
us  and  consult  with  me  ... 

HAGEN.  No,  no!  No  delay!  What's  there  to  consult 
about  ? 

ALB.  We  have  so  much  to  settle  .  .  .  your  clothes  .  .  . 
your  money  .  .  . 

HAGEN.  Give  me  some  gold  .  .  .  that  will  be  all.  Let 
us  be  off! 

GER.  I  will  attend  to  everything.  There  is  no  need 
of  delay. 

HAGEN.  Come  on!  [Tears  other  hand  free.]  Aha! 
[Roams  about  the  stage,  clenching  his  hands  and  gesticu 
lating,  while  the  music  rises  to  a  tremendous  climax.] 
Free !  Free  forever  !  Aha !  Aha  !  [Turning  to  GERALD.] 
Let  us  be  off. 

GER.  All  right.  [To  ALBERICH.]  Good-bye,  your  maj 
esty. 

ALB.     [Anxiously.]     Good-bye. 

HAGEN.     Come  on ! 

ALB.  [As  Nibelungs  gather  about,  waving  farewell.] 
Take  care  of  yourself  !  Come  back  to  me ! 

HAGEN.     Free  !    Free !    Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

MIMI.     [With  Nibelungs]    Good-bye! 

ALB.    Good-bye ! 

GER.     Good-bye ! 

HAGEN.     Free ! 

Exit,  with  GERALD,  amid  chorus  of  farewells,  and 
wild  uproar  of  music. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  nl  PRINCE  HAGEN  175 


ACT  II 

Scene  shows  the  library  in  a  Fifth  Avenue  mansion;  spa 
cious  and  magnificent.  There  are  folding  doors 
right  centre.  There  is  a  centre  table  with  a  read 
ing  lamp  and  books,  and  soft  leather  chairs.  The 
walls  are  covered  with  bookcases.  An  entrance 
right  to  drawing-room.  Also  an  entrance  left. 

At  rise:  GERALD,  in  evening  clothes,  reading  in  front 
of  fire. 

GER.  [Stretching,  and  sighing.']  Ah,  me !  I  wish  I'd 
d  at  the  club.  Bother  their  dinner  parties! 

MRS.  is.  [Enters  right,  a  nervous,  fussy  little  woman, 
in  evening  costume.]  Well,  Gerald  .  .  . 

GER.     Yes,  mother? 

MRS.  is.     You're  not  coming  to  dinner? 

GER.  You  don't  need  me,  mother.  You've  men  enough, 
you  said. 

MRS.  is.  I  like  to  see  something  of  my  son  now  and 
then. 

GER.  I  had  my  lunch  very  late,  and  I'm  honestly  not 
hungry.  I'd  rather  sit  and  read. 

MRS.  is.  I  declare,  Gerald,  you  run  this  reading  busi 
ness  into  the  ground.  You  cut  yourself  off  from  every 
one. 

GER.     They  don't  miss  me,  mother. 

MRS.  is.  To-night  Renaud  is  going  to  give  us  some 
crabflake  a  la  Dewey !  I  told  Mrs.  Bagley-Willis  I'd  show 
her  what  crabflake  could  be.  She  is  simply  green  with 
envy  of  our  chef. 


176  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  n 

GER.     I  fancy  that's  the  reason  you  invite  her,  isn't  it? 

MRS.  is.     [Laughs.]     Perhaps. 

Exit  right.    He  settles  himself  to  read. 

HICKS.     [Enters  centre.]     Mr.   Gerald. 

GER.    Well? 

HICKS.  There  was  a  man  here  to  see  you  some  time 
ago,  sir. 

GER.    A  man  to  see  me  ?    Why  didn't  you  let  me  know  ? 

HICKS.  I  started  to,  sir.  But  he  disappeared,  and  I 
can't  find  him,  sir. 

GER.     Disappeared?    What  do  you  mean? 

HICKS.  He  came  to  the  side  entrance,  sir;  and  one  of 
the  maids  answered  the  bell.  He  was  such  a  queer-looking 
chap  that  she  was  frightened,  and  called  me.  And  then  I 
went  to  ask  if  you  were  in,  and  he  disappeared.  I  wasn't 
sure  if  he  went  out,  sir,  or  if  he  was  still  in  the  house. 

GER.     What  did  he  look  like? 

HICKS.  He  was  a  little  chap  ...  so  high  .  .  .  with  a 
long  beard  and  a  humped  back  .  .  . 

GER.     [Startled.]     Mimi ! 

HICKS.     He  said  you  knew  him,  sir. 

GER.     Yes !     I  would  have  seen  him. 

HICKS.     I  didn't  know,  sir  ... 

GER.     Watch  out  for  him.    He'll  surely  come  back. 

HICKS.     Yes,  sir.    I'm  very  sorry,  sir. 
Exit  centre. 

GER.     [To  himself.]     Mimi!     What  can  that  mean? 

MIMI.     [Opens  door,  left,  and  peeps  in.]     Ha ! 

GER.     [Starts.]    Mimi ! 

MIMI.     Ssh ! 

GER.     What  is  it? 

MIMI.     Where  is  Prince  Hagen? 

GER.     I  don't  know. 

MIMI.     You  don't  know? 

GER.     No. 


ACT  n]  PRINCE  HAGEN  177 

MIMI.     But  I  must  see  him! 

GER.     I've  no  idea  where  he  is. 

MIMI.     But  .  .  .  you  promised  to  take  care  of  him! 

GER.     Yes  .  .  .  and  I  tried  to.    But  he  ran  away  .  .  . 

MIMI.     What? 

GER.     I've  not  heard  of  him  for  two  years  now. 

MIMI.     [Coming  closer. ~\     Tell  me  about  it. 

GER.  I  took  him  to  a  boarding  school  ...  a  place 
\vhere  he'd  be  taken  care  of  and  taught.  And  he  re 
belled  ...  he  would  not  obey  anyone  .  .  .  [Takes  some 
faded  telegrams  from  pocket  book.]  See !  This  is  what 
I  got. 

MIMI.     What  are  they? 

GER.  Telegrams  they  sent  me.  [Reads.]  Hagen  under 
physical  restraint.  Whole  school  disorganized.  Come  im 
mediately  and  take  him  away. 

MIMI.     Ha! 

GER.  That's  one.  And  here's  the  other:  Hagen  has 
escaped,  threatening  teachers  with  revolver.  Took  train 
for  New  York.  What  shall  we  do?  [Puts  away  papers.] 
And  that's  all. 

MIMI.    All? 

GER.  That  was  over  two  years  ago.  And  I've  not  heard 
of  him  since. 

MIMI.     But  he  must  be  found! 

GER.     I  have  tried.     I  can't. 

MIMI.     [Vehemently.]     But  we  cannot  do  without  him  ! 

GER.     What's  the  matter? 

MIMI.  I  cannot  tell  you.  But  we  must  have  him  !  The 
people  need  him ! 

GER.  He  has  lost  himself  in  this  great  city.  What  can 
I  do? 

MIMI.  He  must  be  found.  [Voices  heard  centre.] 
What  is  that? 

GER.     It  is  some  company. 


178  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  n 

MIMI.     [Darts  left.]    We  must  find  Prince  Hagen  !   He 
must  come  back  to  Nibelheim ! 
Exit  left. 

MRS.  BAGLEY-WILLIS.     [Off   centre.]     It   was    crabflake 
a  la  Dewey  she  promised  me ! 
Enters  with  ISMAN. 

GER.     How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Bagley- Willis  ? 

MRS.  B.-W.    How  do  you  do,  Gerald? 

GER.     Hello,  father! 

ISMAN.     Hello,  Gerald! 

MRS.  B-W.    Am  I  the  first  to  arrive? 

GER.     I  think  so. 

MRS.  B.-W.  And  how  is  Estelle  after  her  slumming  ad 
venture  ? 

GER.     She's  all  right. 

ISMAN.  That  was  a  fine  place  for  you  to  take  my 
daughter ! 

MRS.  B.-W.  It  wasn't  my  fault.  She  would  go.  And 
her  mother  consented. 

GER.     I  wish  I'd  been  there  with  you. 

MRS.  B.-W.  Indeed,  I  wished  for  someone.  I  was  never 
more  frightened  in  my  life. 

ISMAN.     Did  you  see  this  morning's  Record? 

MRS.  B.-W.     No.    What? 

ISMAN.     About  that  fellow,  Steve  O'Hagen? 

MRS.  B.-W.    Good  heavens ! 

GER.     Nothing  about  Estelle,  I  hope! 

ISMAN.  No  ...  apparently  nobody  noticed  that  inci 
dent.  But  about  his  political  speech,  and  the  uproar  he's 
making  on  the  Bowery.  They  say  the  streets  were  blocked 
for  an  hour  ...  the  police  couldn't  clear  them. 

GER.     He  must  be  an  extraordinary  talker. 

MRS.  B.-W.  You  can't  imagine  it  The  man  is  a  perfect 
demon ! 

GER.    Where  does  he  come  from? 


ACT  n]  PRINCE  HAGEN  170 

ISMAN.  Apparently  nobody  knows.  The  papers  say  he 
turned  up  a  couple  of  years  ago  ...  he  won't  talk  about 
his  past.  He  joined  Tammany  Hall,  and  he's  sweeping 
everything  before  him. 

GER.     What  do  you  suppose  will  come  of  it? 

ISMAN.  Oh,  he'll  get  elected  .  .  .  what  is  it  he's  to  be 
...  an  alderman  ?  .  .  .  and  then  he'll  sell  out,  like  all  the 
rest.  I  was  talking  about  it  this  afternoon,  with  Plimpton 
and  Rutherford. 

MRS.  B.-W.     They're  to  be  here  to-night,  I  understand. 

ISMAN.  Yes.  .  .  so  they  mentioned.  Ah !  Here's 
Estelle ! 

ESTELLE.  [Enters,  centre,  with  an  armful  of  roses.] 
Ah  !  Mrs.  Bagley-Willis !  Good  evening ! 

MRS.  B.-W.     Good  evening,  Estelle. 

EST.     Good  evening,  father.    Hello,  Gerald. 

GER.     My,  aren't  we  gorgeous  to-night ! 

EST.     Just  aren't  we ! 

MRS.  B.-W.  The  adventure  doesn't  seem  to  have  hurt 
you.  Where  is  your  mother? 

GER.  She  went  into  the  drawing-room.  [MRS.  B.-W.  and 
ISMAN  go  off,  right;  ESTELLE  is  about  to  follow.]  Estelle ! 

EST.     What  is  it? 

GER.  What's  this  I  hear  about  your  adventure  last 
night  ? 

EST.  [With  sudden  seriousness.']  Oh,  Gerald!  [Comes 
closer."]  It  was  a  frightful  thing!  I've  hardly  dared  to 
think  about  it ! 

GER.     Tell  me. 

EST.  Gerald,  that  man  was  talking  straight  at  me  .  .  . 
he  meant  every  bit  of  it  for  me ! 

GER.     Tell  me  the  story. 

EST.  Why,  you  know,  Lord  Alderdyce  had  heard  about 
this  wild  fellow,  Steve  O'Hagen,  who's  made  such  a  sen 
sation  this  campaign.  And  he's  interested  in  our  elec- 


180  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  n 

tions,  and  wanted  to  hear  O'Hagen  speak.  He  said  he 
had  a  friend  who'd  arrange  for  us  to  be  introduced  to 
him ;  and  so  we  went  down  there.  And  there  was  a  most 
frightful  crowd  ...  it  was  an  outdoor  meeting,  you  know. 
We  pushed  our  way  into  a  saloon,  where  the  mob 
was  shouting  around  this  O'Hagen.  And  then  he  caught 
sight  of  us  ...  and  Gerald,  from  the  moment  he  saw  me 
he  never  took  his  eyes  off  me  !  Never  once  ! 

GER.  [Smiling.]  Well,  Estelle  .  .  .  you've  been  looked 
at  before. 

EST.    Ah,  but  never  like  that ! 

GER.     What  sort  of  a  man  is  he? 

EST.  He's  small  and  dark  and  ugly  ...  he  wore  a 
rough  reefer  and  cap  .  .  .  but  Gerald,  he's  no  common 
man!  There's  something  strange  and  terrible  about  him 
.  .  .  there's  a  fire  blazing  in  him.  The  detective  who  was 
with  us  introduced  us  to  him  .  .  .  and  he  stood  there  and 
stared  at  me !  I  tried  to  say  something  or  other  .  .  .  "I've 
been  so  interested  in  your  speech,  Mr.  O'Hagen."  And  he 
laughed  at  me  ...  "Yes,  I've  no  doubt."  And  then  sud 
denly  ...  it  was  as  if  he  leaped  at  me !  He  pointed  his 
finger  straight  into  my  face,  and  his  eyes  fairly  shone. 
"Wait  for  me !  I'll  be  with  you !  I'm  coming  to  the  top  !" 

GER.    Good  God! 

EST.  Imagine  it!  I  was  simply  paralyzed!  "Mark 
what  I  tell  you,"  he  went  on  ...  "it'll  be  of  interest  to 
you  some  day  to  remember  it.  You  may  wait  for  me !  I'm 
coming !  You  will  not  escape  me  !" 

GER.     Why  .  .  .  he's  mad! 

EST.  He  was  like  a  wild  beast.  Everybody  in  the  place 
was  staring  at  us  as  he  rushed  on.  "You  have  joy  and 
power  and  freedom  ...  all  the  privileges  of  life  ...  all 
things  that  are  excellent  and  beautiful.  You  are  born 
to  them  .  .  .  you  claim  them !  And  you  come  down  here 
to  stare  at  us  as  you  might  at  some  strange  animals  in  a 


ACT  n]  PRINCE  HAGEN  181 

cage.  You  chatter  and  laugh  and  go  your  way  .  .  .  but 
remember  what  I  told  you  ...  I  shall  be  with  you !  You 
cannot  keep  me  down !  I  shall  be  master  of  you  all !" 

GER.     Incredible ! 

EST.  And  then  in  a  moment  it  was  all  over.  He  made 
a  mocking  bow  to  the  party  .  .  .  "It  has  given  me  the 
greatest  pleasure  in  the  world  to  meet  you !"  And  with 
a  wild  laugh  he  went  out  of  the  door  .  .  .  and  the  crowd 
in  the  street  burst  into  a  roar  that  was  like  a  clap  of  thun 
der.  [A  pause.']  Gerald,  what  do  you  think  he  meant? 

GER.  My  dear,  you've  been  up  against  the  class-war. 
It's  rather  the  fashion  now,  you  know. 

EST.  Oh,  but  it  was  horrible!  I  can't  get  it  out  of 
my  mind.  We  heard  some  of  his  speech  afterwards  .  .  . 
and  it  seemed  as  if  every  word  of  it  was  meant  for  me! 
He  lashed  the  crowd  to  a  perfect  fury  ...  I  think  they'd 
have  set  fire  to  the  city  if  he'd  told  them  to.  What  do 
you  suppose  he  expects  to  do? 

GER.     I  can't  imagine,  I'm  sure. 

EST.  I  should  like  to  know  more  about  him.  He  was 
never  raised  in  the  slums,  I  feel  certain. 

GER.     Steve  O'Hagen.     The  name  sounds  Irish. 

EST.  I  don't  think  he's  Irish.  He's  dark  and  strange- 
looking  .  .  .  almost  uncanny. 

GER.  I  shall  go  down  there  and  hear  him  the  first 
chance  I  get.  And  now,  I  guess  I'd  best  get  out,  if  I  want 
to  dodge  old  Plimpton. 

EST.  Yes  .  .  .  and  Rutherford,  too.  Isn't  it  a  bore ! 
I  think  they  are  perfectly  odious  people. 

GER.     Why  do  you  suppose  mother  invited  them? 

EST.  Oh,  it's  a  business  affair  .  .  .  they  have  forced 
their  way  into  some  deal  of  father's,  and  so  we  have  to 
cultivate  them. 

GER.  Plimpton,  the  coal  baron!  And  Rutherford,  the 
steel  king !  I  wonder  how  many  hundred  millions  of  dol- 


182  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  n 

lars  we  shall  have  to  have  before  we  can  choose  our 
guests  for  something  more  interesting  than  their  Wall 
Street  connections ! 

EST.     I  think  I  hear  them.      [Listens.]     Yes  .  .  .  the 
voice.     [Mocking  PLIMPTON'S  manner  and  tone.]     Good 
evening,  Miss  Isman.    I  guess  I'll  skip  it ! 
Exit  right. 

GER.    And  I,  too ! 
Exit  left. 

RUTHERFORD.  [A  stout  and  rather  coarse-looking  man, 
enters,  right,  with  PLIMPTON.]  It's  certainly  an  outrageous 
state  of  affairs,  Plimpton ! 

PLIMPTON.  [A  thin,  clerical-looking  person,  with 
square-cut  beard.]  Disgraceful !  Disgraceful ! 

RUTH.    The  public  seems  to  be  quite  hysterical ! 

PLIMP.  We  have  got  to  a  state  where  simply  to  be 
entrusted  with  great  financial  responsibility  is  enough  to 
constitute  a  man  a  criminal;  to  warrant  a  newspaper  in 
prying  into  the  intimate  details  of  his  life,  and  in  present 
ing  him  in  hideous  caricatures. 

RUTH.  I  can  sympathize  with  you,  Plimpton  .  .  .  these 
government  investigations  are  certainly  a  trial.  [Laugh 
ing.]  I've  had  my  turn  at  them  ...  I  used  to  lie  awake 
nights  trying  to  remember  what  my  lawyers  had  told  me 
to  forget! 

PLIMP.  Ahem!  Ahem!  Yes  .  .  .  a  rather  cynical  jest! 
I  can't  say  exactly  .  .  . 

MRS.  is.  [In  doorway,  right.]  Ah,  Mr.  Plimpton! 
How  do  you  do?  And  Mr.  Rutherford? 

PLIMP.     Good  evening,  Mrs.  Isman. 

RUTH.     Good  evening,  Mrs.  Isman. 

MRS.  is.  You  managed  to  tear  yourself  away  from 
business  cares,  after  all ! 

PLIMP.     It  was  not  easy,  I  assure  you. 

MRS.  is.     Won't  you  come  in? 


ACT  n]  PRINCE  HAGEN  183 

RUTH.    With  pleasure. 

Exit,  right,  with  MRS.  ISMAN,  followed  by  PLIMPTON. 

GER.     [Enters,  left.]     That  pious  old  fraud!     [Sits  in 
chair.]    Well,  I'm  safe  for  a  while! 
Sprawls  at  ease  and  reads. 

HICKS.  [Enters,  centre.]  A  gentleman  to  see  you,  Mr. 
Gerald. 

GER.  Hey?  [Takes  card,  looks,  then  gives  violent 
start.]  Prince  Hagen !  [Stands  aghast,  staring;  whis 
pers,  half  dazed.'}  Prince  Hagen  ! 

HICKS.     [After  waiting.]     What  shall  I  tell  him,  sir? 

GER.     What  .  .  .  what  does  he  look  like? 

HICKS.     Why  ...  he  seems  to  be  a  gentleman,  sir. 

GER.     How  is  he  dressed? 

HICKS.     For  dinner,  sir. 

GER.  [Hesitates,  gazes  about  nervously.']  Bring  him 
here  .  .  .  quickly ! 

HICKS.    Yes,  sir. 

GER.    And  shut  the  door  afterwards. 

HICKS.    Yes,  sir. 
Exit. 

GER.  [Stands  staring.]  Prince  Hagen !  He's  come  at 
last! 

Takes  the  faded  telegrams  from  his  pocket;  looks 
at  them;  then  goes  to  door,  right,  and  closes  it. 

HICKS.     [Enters,  centre.]     Prince  Hagen. 

HAGEN.  [Enters;  serene  and  smiling,  immaculately 
clad.]  Ah,  Gerald ! 

GER.     [Gazing.]     Prince  Hagen ! 

HAGEN.     You  are  surprised  to  see  me ! 

GER.     I  confess  that  I  am. 

HAGEN.     Did  you  think  I  was  never  coming  back? 

GER.     I  had  given  you  up. 

HAGEN.     Well,  here  I  am  ...  to  report  progress. 


184  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  n 

GER.  [After  a  pause.~\  Where  have  you  been  these  two 
years? 

HAGEN.     Oh,  I've  been  seeing  life  .  .  . 

GER.     You  didn't  like  the  boarding  school? 

HAGEN.  [With  sudden  vehemence. ,]  Did  you  think  I 
would  like  it?  Did  you  think  I'd  come  to  this  world  to 
have  my  head  stuffed  with  Latin  conjugations  and  saw 
dust? 

GER.     I  had  hoped  that  in  a  good  Christian  home  .  .  . 

HAGEN.  [Laughing.'}  No,  no,  Gerald!  I  let  you  talk 
that  sort  of  thing  to  me  in  the  beginning.  It  sounded 
fishy  even  then,  but  I  didn't  say  anything  ...  I  wanted 
to  get  my  bearings.  But  I  hadn't  been  twenty-four  hours 
in  that  good  Christian  home  before  I  found  out  what  a 
kettleful  of  jealousies  and  hatreds  it  was.  The  head 
master  was  an  old  sap-head;  and  the  boys!  ...  I  was 
strange  and  ugly,  and  they  thought  they  could  torment  and 
bully  me ;  but  I  fought  'em  ...  by  the  Lord,  I  fought  'em 
day  and  night,  I  fought  'em  all  around  the  place ! 
And  when  I'd  mastered  'em,  you  should  have  seen  how 
they  cringed  and  toadied!  They  hated  the  slavery  they 
lived  under,  but  not  one  of  them  dared  raise  his  hand 
against  it. 

GER.  Well,  you've  seen  the  world  in  your  own  way. 
Now  are  you  ready  to  go  back  to  Nibelheim  ? 

HAGEN.     Good  God,  no! 

GER.     You  know  it's  my  duty  to  send  you  back. 

HAGEN.     Oh,  say  !     My  dear  fellow ! 

GER.  You  know  the  solemn  promise  I  made  to  King 
Alberich. 

HAGEN.     Yes  .  .  .  but  you  can't  carry  it  out. 

GER.     But  I  can  ! 

HAGEN.       HOW? 

GER.  I  could  invoke  the  law,  if  need  be.  You  know 
you  are  a  minor  .  .  . 


ACT  IT]  PRINCE  HAGEN  185 

IIAGEN.  My  dear  boy,  I'm  over  seven  hundred  years 
old! 

GER.  Ah,  but  that  is  a  quibble.  You  know  that  in  our 
world  that  is  only  equal  to  about  eighteen  .  .  . 

HAGEN.  I  have  read  up  the  law,  but  I  haven't  found 
any  provision  for  reducing  Nibelung  ages  to  your  scale. 

GER.     But  you  can't  deny  .  .  . 

HAGEN.  I  wouldn't  need  to  deny.  The  story's  absurd 
on  the  face  of  it.  You  know  perfectly  well  that  there  are 
no  such  things  as  Nibelungs !  [GERALD  gasps.']  And  be 
sides,  you're  a  poet,  and  everybody  knows  you're  crazy. 
Fancy  what  the  newspaper  reporters  would  do  with  such 
a  yarn !  [Cheerfully.]  Come,  old  man,  forget  about  it, 
and  let's  be  friends.  You'll  have  a  lot  more  fun  watching 
my  career.  And  besides,  what  do  you  want?  I've  come 
back,  and  I'm  ready  to  follow  your  advice. 

GER.     How  do  you  mean? 

HAGEN.  You  told  me  to  stay  in  school  until  I'd  got  my 
bearings  in  the  world.  And  then  I  was  to  have  a  career. 
Well,  I've  got  my  education  for  myself  .  .  .  and  now  I'm 
ready  for  the  career.  [After  a  pause.']  Listen,  Gerald. 
I  said  I'd  be  a  self-made  man.  I  said  I'd  conquer  the 
world  for  myself.  But  of  late  I've  come  to  realize  how  far 
it  is  to  the  top,  and  I  can't  spare  the  time. 

GER.     I  see. 

HAGEN.  And  then  .  .  .  besides  that  .  .  .  I've  met  a 
woman. 

GER.     [Startled.]     Good  heavens! 

HAGEN.    Yes.    I'm  in  love. 

GER.     But  surely  .  .  .  you  don't  expect  to  marry! 

HAGEN.  Why  not?  My  mother  was  an  earth-woman, 
and  her  mother,  also. 

GER.  To  be  sure.  I'd  not  realized  it.  [A  pause.]  Who 
is  the  woman? 

HAGEN.     I  don't  know.     I   only   know   she  belongs   in 


186  TRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  n 

this  world  of  yours.     And  I've  come  to  seek  her  out.     I 
shall  get  her,  never  fear ! 

GER.     What  are  your  plans? 

HAGEN.  I've  looked  this  Christian  civilization  of  yours 
over  .  .  .  and  I'm  prepared  to  play  the  game.  You  can 
take  me  up  and  put  me  into  Society  ...  as  you  offered 
to  do  before.  You'll  find  that  I'll  do  you  credit. 

GER.     But  such  a  career  requires  money. 

HAGEN.  Of  course.  Alberich  will  furnish  it,  if  you  tell 
him  it's  needed.  You  must  call  Mimi. 

GER.     Mimi  is  here  now. 

HAGEN.     [Starting.]     What ! 

GER.     He  is  in  the  house. 

HAGEN.    For  what? 

GER.     He  came  to  look  for  you. 

HAGEN.     What  is  the  matter? 

GER.  I  don't  know.  He  wants  you  to  return  to  Nibel- 
heim. 

HAGEN.     Find  him.    Let  me  see  him ! 

GER.     All  right.    Wait  here. 
Exit  left. 

HAGEN.     What  can  that  mean? 

EST.  [Enters,  right,  sees  PRINCE  HAGEN,  starts  wildly 
and  screams.]  Ah  !  [She  stands  transfixed;  a  long  pause.'] 
Steve  O'Hagen!  [A  pause.]  Steve  O'Hagen !  What 
does  it  mean  ? 

HAGEN.     Who  are  you? 

EST.     I  live  here. 

HAGEN.     Your  name? 

EST.     Estelle  Isman. 

HAGEN.  [In  a  transport  of  amazement.]  Estelle  Isman ! 
You  are  Gerald's  sister ! 

EST.     Yes. 

HAGEN.     By  the  gods  ! 

EST.     [Terrified.]    You  know  my  brother ! 


ACT  n]  PRINCE  HAGEN  187 

HAGEN.      YCS. 

EST.     You  .  .  .  Steve  O'Hagen ! 

HAGEN.     {Gravely.'}    I  am  Prince  Hagen  ! 

EST.     Prince  Hagen ! 

HAGEN.     A  foreign  nobleman. 

EST.  What  .  .  .  what  do  you  mean?  You  were  on  the 
Bowery ! 

HAGEN.  I  came  to  this  country  to  study  its  institu 
tions.  I  wished  to  know  them  for  myself  .  .  .  therefore 
I  went  into  politics.  Don't  you  see? 

EST     [Dazed.']     I  see! 

HAGEN.  Now  I  am  on  the  point  of  giving  up  the  game 
and  telling  the  story  of  my  experiences. 

EST.     What  are  you  doing  here  ...  in  this  house? 

HAGEN.     I  came  for  you. 

EST.     [Stares  at  him.']     How  dare  you? 

HAGEN.  I  would  dare  anything  for  you!  [They  gaze 
at  each  other.'}  Don't  you  understand? 

EST.  [Vehemently.}  No!  No!  I  am  afraid  of  you! 
You  have  no  business  to  be  here ! 

HAGEN.     [Taking  a  step  towards  her.}    Listen  .  .  . 

EST.  No !  I  will  not  hear  you !  You  cannot  come  here  ! 
Stares  at  him,  then  abruptly  exit,  centre. 

HAGEN.  [Laughs.]  Humph !  [Hearing  voices.]  Who 
is  this? 

RUTH.     [Off  right.]     I  don't  agree  with  you. 

is.  Nor  I,  either,  Plimpton.  [Enters  with  PLIMPTON 
and  RUTHERFORD;  sees  HAGEN.]  Oh  ...  I  beg  your  par 
don. 

HAGEN.     I  am  waiting  for  your  son,  sir. 

is.     I  see.    Won't  you  be  seated? 

HAGEN.     I  thank  you.     [Sits  at  ease  in  chair.} 

PLIM.  My  point  is,  it's  as  Lord  Alderdyce  says  ...  we 
have  no  hereditary  aristocracy  in  this  country,  no  tradi 
tions  of  authority  .  .  .  nothing  to  hold  the  mob  in  check. 


188  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  n 

is.     There  is  the  constitution. 

PLIM.     They  may  over-ride  it. 

is.     There  are  the  courts. 

PLIM.     They  may  defy  the  courts. 

RUTH.     Oh,  Plimpton,  that's  absurd! 

PLIM.  Nothing  of  the  kind,  Rutherford !  Suppose  they 
were  to  elect  to  office  some  wild  and  reckless  demagog 
.  .  .  take,  for  instance,  that  ruffian  you  were  telling  us 
about  .  .  .  down  there  on  the  Bowery  .  .  .  [HAGEN  starts, 
and  listens']  and  he  were  to  defy  the  law  and  the  courts? 
He  is  preaching  just  that  to  the  mob  .  .  .  striving  to  rouse 
the  elemental  wild  beast  in  them !  And  some  day  they 
will  pour  out  into  this  avenue  .  .  . 

RUTH.  [Vehemently.']  Very  well,  Plimpton  !  Let  them 
come!  Have  we  not  the  militia  and  the  regulars?  We 
could  sweep  the  avenue  with  one  machine  gun  .  .  . 

PLIM.     But  suppose  the  troops  would  not  fire? 

RUTH.     But  that  is  impossible  ! 

PLIM.  Nothing  of  the  kind,  Rutherford !  No,  no  ... 
we  must  go  back  of  all  that!  It  is  in  the  hearts  of  the 
people  that  we  must  erect  our  defenses.  It  is  the  spirit 
of  this  godless  and  skeptical  age  that  is  undermining  orr 
der.  We  must  teach  the  people  the  truths  of  religion.  We 
must  inculcate  lessons  of  sobriety  and  thrift,  of  rever 
ence  for  constituted  authority.  We  must  set  our  faces 
against  these  new  preachers  of  license  and  infidelity  .  .  . 
we  must  go  back  to  the  old-time  faith  ...  to  love,  and 
charity,  and  self-sacrifice  .  .  . 

HAGEN.     [Interrupting.]  That's  it !  You've  got  it  there  ! 

is.     [Amazed.'}     Why  .  .  . 

PLIM.     Sir? 

HAGEN.  You've  said  it!  Set  the  parsons  after  them! 
Teach  them  heaven!  Set  them  to  singing  about  harps 
and  golden  crowns,  and  milk  and  honey  flowing !  Then 
you  can  shut  them  up  in  slums  and  starve  them,  and  they 


ACT  n]  PRINCE  HAGEN  IS!) 

won't  know  the  difference.  Teach  them  non-resistance 
and  self-renunciation  !  You've  got  the  phrases  all  pat  .  .  . 
handed  out  from  heaven  direct !  Take  no  thought  saying 
what  ye  shall  eat!  Lay  not  up  for  yourselves  treasures 
on  earth  !  Render  unto  Caesar  the  things  that  are  Caesar's  ! 

is.     Why  .  .  .  this  is  preposterous ! 

PLIM.     This  is  blasphemy! 

HAGEN.  You're  Plimpton  .  .  .  Plimpton,  the  coal  baron, 
I  take  it.  I  know  you  by  your  pictures.  You  shut  up 
little  children  by  tens  of  thousands  to  toil  for  you  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth.  You  crush  your  rivals,  and  form  a 
trust,  and  screw  up  prices  to  freeze  the  poor  in  winter ! 
And  you  .  .  .  [to  RUTHERFORD]  you're  Rutherford,  the 
steel  king,  I  take  it.  You  have  slaves  working  twelve 
hours  a  day  and  seven  days  a  week  in  your  mills.  And 
you  mangle  them  in  hideous  accidents,  and  then  cheat 
their  widows  of  their  rights  .  .  .  and  then  you  build 
churches,  and  set  your  parsons  to  preach  to  them  about 
love  and  self-sacrifice !  To  teach  them  charity,  while  you 
crucify  justice!  To  trick  them  with  visions  of  an  imagi 
nary  paradise,  while  you  pick  their  pockets  upon  earth ! 
To  put  arms  in  their  hands,  and  send  them  to  shoot  their 
brothers,  in  the  name  of  the  Prince  of  Peace ! 

RUTH.    This  is  outrageous  ! 

PLIM.     [Clenching  his  fists.']     Infamous  scoundrel ! 

RUTH.     [Advancing  upon  HAGEN.]    How  dare  you  ! 

HAGEN.     It  stings,  does  it?     Ha!     Ha! 

PLIM.     [Sputtering.]    You  wretch ! 

is.  This  has  gone  too  far.  Stop,  Rutherford!  Calm 
yourself,  Plimpton.  Let  us  not  forget  ourselves!  [To 
PRINCE  HAGEN,  haughtily.]  I  do  not  know  who  you  are, 
sir,  or  by  what  right  you  are  in  my  house.  You  say  that 
you  are  a  friend  of  my  son's  .  .  . 

HAGEN.     I  claim  that  honor,  sir. 

is.     The   fact  that  you  claim  it  prevents  my  ordering 


190  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  n 

you  into  the  street.    But  I  will  see  my  son,  sir,  and  find 
out  by   what   right  you   are   here   to   insult   my   guests. 
[Turning.']    Come,  Plimpton.    Come,  Rutherford  .  .   .  we 
will  bandy  no  words  with  him ! 
They  go  off,  centre. 

HAGEN.  [Alone.']  By  God !  I  touched  them  !  Ha,  ha, 
ha!  [Grimly. ~\  He  will  order  me  into  the  street !  [With 
concentrated  fury.']  That  is  it !  They  shut  you  out !  They 
build  a  wall  about  themselves  !  Aristocracy !  [Clenching 
his  fist.']  Very  well !  So  be  it !  You  sit  within  your  fort 
ress  of  privilege !  You  are  haughty  and  contemptuous, 
flaunting  your  power !  But  I'll  breach  your  battlements, 
Fll  lay  them  in  the  dust !  I'll  bring  you  to  your  knees 
before  me ! 

A  silence.     Suddenly  there  is  heard,  very  faintly, 
the  Nibelung  theme.    It  is  repeated;  HAGEN  starts. 

MIMI.     [Enters,  left.}    Prince  Hagen  ! 

HAGEN.    Mimi ! 

MIMI.    At  last ! 

HAGEN.     [Approaching.]    What  is  it? 

MIMI.     [Beckons.]     Come  here. 

HAGEN.     [In  excitement.]     What  do  you  want? 

MIMI.     You  must  come  back ! 

HAGEN.     What  do  you  mean? 

MIMI.     The  people  want  you. 

HAGEN.     What  for? 

MIMI.     They  need  you.    You  must  be  king. 

HAGEN.     [Wildly.]    Ha? 

MIMI.     Alberich  .  .  . 

HAGEN.     Alberich? 

MIMI.     He  is  dead ! 

HAGEN.     [With  wild  start.]    Dead! 

MIMI.     Yes  ...  he  died  last  night ! 

HAGEN.  [Turns  pale  and  staggers;  then  leaps  at  MIMI, 
clutching  him  by  the  arm.]  No!  No! 


ACT  n]  PRINCE  HAGKN  191 

MIMI.     It  is  true. 

HAGEN.  My  God!  [A  look  of  wild,  drunken  rapture 
crosses  his  face;  he  clenches  his  hands  and  raises  his 
arms.]  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

MIMI.     [Shrinks  in  horror.]     Prince  Hagen ! 

HAGEN.  He  is  dead!  He  is  dead!  [Leaps  at  MIMI.] 
The  gold? 

MIMI.     The  gold  is  yours. 

HAGEN.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  It  is  mine  !  It  is  mine !  [Begins 
pacing  the  floor  wildly.]  Victory !  Victory!  VICTORY! 
Ha,  ha,  ha !  Ha,  ha,  ha !  [Spreads  out  his  arms,  with  a 
triumphant  shout.']  I  have  them!  By  God!  Isman ! 
Plimpton  and  Rutherford  !  Estelle  !  I  have  them  all !  It 
is  triumph  !  It  is  glory !  It  is  the  world !  I  am  King ! 
I  am  King!  King!  KING!  [Seises  MIMI  and  starts 
centre;  the  music  rises  to  climax1.']  To  Nibelheim !  To 
Nibelheim  !  [Stands  stretching  out  his  arms  in  exultation; 
a  wild  burst  of  music.]  Make  way  for  Hagen!  Make 
way  for  Hagen  f 

CURTAIN 


192  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  m 


ACT  III 

The  conservatory  is  a  study  in  green  and  gold,  with 
strange  tropical  plants  having  golden  flowers. 
There  are  entrances  right  and  left.  In  the  centre, 
up-stage,  is  a  niche  with  a  gold  table  and  a  couple 
of  gold  chairs,  and  behind  these  a  stand  with  the 
"coronation  cup" ;  to  the  right  the  golden  throne 
from  Nibelheim,  and  to  the  left  a  gold  fountain 
splashing  gently. 

At  rise:  The  stage  is  empty.  The  strains  of  an  orchestra 
heard  from  ball-room,  left. 

MRS.  BAGLEY-WILLIS.  [Enters,  right,  with  DE  WIGGLESTON 
RIGGS;  she  wears  a  very  low-cut  gown,  a  stomacher  and 
tiara  of  diamonds,  and  numerous  ropes  of  pearls.]  Well, 
Wiggie,  he  has  made  a  success  of  it! 

DE  WIGGLESTON  RIGGS.  [Petit  and  exquisite.']  He  was 
certain  to  make  a  success  when  Mrs.  Bagley- Willis  took 
him  up ! 

MRS.  B.-W.  But  he  wouldn't  do  a  single  thing  I  told 
him.  I  never  had  such  a  protege  in  my  life ! 

DE  w.  R.     Extraordinary ! 

MRS.  B.-W.  I  told  him  it  would  be  frightfully  crude,  and 
it  is.  And  yet,  Wiggie,  it's  impressive,  in  its  way  .  .  .  no 
body  can  miss  the  feeling.  Such  barbaric  splendor! 

DE  w.  R.     The  very  words !     Barbaric  splendor  ! 

MRS.  B.-W.  I  never  heard  of  anything  like  it  ...  the 
man  simply  poured  out  money.  It's  quite  in  a  different 
class  from  other  affairs. 

DE  w.  R.     [Holding  up  his  hands.']     Stupefying! 


ACT  m]  PRINCE  HAGEN  193 

MRS.  B.-W.  And  did  you  ever  know  the  public  to  take 
such  interest  in  a  social  event?  People  haven't  even 
stopped  to  think  about  the  panic  in  Wall  Street. 

DE  w.  R.  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Bagley-Willis,  it  begins  a 
new  epoch  in  our  social  history.  [To  LORD  ALDERDYCE,  who 
enters,  left,  with  GERALD.]  How  do  you  do,  Lord  Alder- 
dyce? 

MRS.  B.-W.  Good  evening,  Lord  Alderdyce.  Good  eve 
ning,  Gerald. 

LORD  A.  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Bagley-Willis.  Good  eve 
ning,  Mr.  Riggs. 

GERALD.  Good  evening,  Wiggie !  [DE  w.  R.  and  MRS. 
B.-W.  more  toward  left.]  I  suppose  that  old  lady's  taken 
to  herself  all  the  credit  for  this  evening's  success! 

LORD  A.  Well,  really,  you  know,  wasn't  it  ...  ah  ... 
quite  a  feat  to  make  society  swallow  this  adventurer? 

GERALD.  How  can  anybody  stay  away?  When  a  man 
spends  several  millions  on  a  single  entertainment  people 
have  to  come  out  of  pure  curiosity. 

LORD  A.     To  be  sure  !    I  did,  anyway  ! 

GER.  [Gazing  about.]  Think  of  buying  all  the  old 
Vandergrift  palaces  at  one  swoop! 

LORD  A.     Oh,  really  ! 

GER.  This  palace  was  one  of  the  landmarks  of  the  city ; 
all  its  decorations  had  been  taken  from  old  palaces  in 
Italy.  And  he  tore  everything  off  and  gave  it  away  to 
a  museum,  and  he  made  it  over  in  three  months ! 

LORD  A.     Amazing. 

Music  and  applause  heard  left. 

MRS.  B.-W.     Mazzanini  must  be  going  to  sing  again. 

DE  w.  R.     Let  us  go ! 

MRS.  B.-W.  Fancy  opera  stars  to  dance  to!  A  waltz 
song  at  a  thousand  dollars  a  minute ! 

DE  w.  R.     Ah,  but  such  a  song ! 


194  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  ra 

They  go  off,  left;  half  a  dozen  guests  enter,  right, 
and  cross  in  groups. 

RUTH.  [Enters,  right,  with  PLIMPTON;  looking  about.] 
An  extraordinary  get-up ! 

PLIMP.  Appalling  extravagance,  Rutherford!  Appall 
ing! 

RUTH.     Practically  everybody's  here. 

PLIMP.    Everybody  I  ever  heard  of. 

RUTH.  One  doesn't  meet  you  at  balls  very  often,  Plimp 
ton. 

PLIM.  No.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  came  from  motives  of 
prudence. 

RUTH.     Humph !  To  tell  the  truth,  so  did  I ! 

PLIM.  The  man  is  mad,  you  know  .  .  .  and  one  can't 
tell  what  might  offend  him ! 

RUTH.    And  with  the  market  in  such  a  state ! 

PLIM.     It's  terrible  !  Terrible  ! ...  ah,  Lord  Alderdyce  ! 

LORD  A.  Good  evening,  Mr.  Plimpton.  How  d'ye  do, 
Mr.  Rutherford? 

RUTH.    As  well  as  could  be  expected,  Lord  Alderdvce. 
It's  a  trying  time  for  men  of  affairs. 
They  pass  on,  and  go  off,  left. 

GER.     They  must  be  under  quite  a  strain  just  now. 

LORD  A.  Don't  mention  it.  Don't  mention  it !  I've  in 
vested  all  my  funds  in  this  country,  and  I  tremble  to  pick 
up  the  last  edition  of  the  paper ! 

MRS.  is.  [Enters,  right,  costumed  en  grande  dame,  much 
excited.]  Oh,  Gerald,  Lord  Alderdyce,  what  do  you  think 
I've  just  heard? 

LORD  A.    What? 

MRS.  is.  About  Prince  Hagen  and  Mrs.  Bagley-Willis 
.  .  .  how  she  came  to  take  him  up!  Percy  Pennington 
told  me  about  it  ...  he's  her  own  first  cousin,  you  know, 
Lord  Alderdyce  .  .  .  and  he  vows  he  saw  the  letter  in 
her  desk ! 


ACT  m]  PRINCE  HAGEN  195 

LORD  A.    Oh,  tell  us  ! 

MRS.  is.  Well,  it  was  just  after  Prince  Hagen  made 
his  appearance,  when  the  papers  were  printing  pages 
about  him.  And  the  news  came  that  he'd  bought  these 
palaces;  and  the  next  day  Mrs.  Bagley-Willis  got  a  letter 
marked  personal.  Percy  quoted  the  words  .  .  .  Dear 
Madam:  I  wish  to  enter  Society.  I  have  no  time  to  go 
through  with  the  usual  formalities.  I  am  a  nobleman, 
with  an  extraordinary  mind  and  unlimited  money.  I  in 
tend  to  entertain  New  York  Society  as  it  has  never 
dreamed  of  being  entertained  before.  I  should  be  very 
pleased  if  you  would  co-operate  with  me  in  making  my 
opening  ball  a  success.  If  you  are  prepared  to  do  this, 
I  am  prepared  to  pay  you  the  sum  of  one  million  dollars 
cash  as  soon  as  I  receive  your  acceptance.  Needless  to 
say,  of  course,  this  proposition  is  entirely  confidential! 

LORD.  A.    By  jove  ! 

MRS.  is.    Think  of  it ! 

GER.    But  can  it  be  true? 

MRS.  is.  What  is  more  likely,  my  dear?  You  know 
that  Mrs.  Bagley-Willis  has  been  spending  millions  every 
season  to  entertain  at  Newport;  and  their  fortune  will 
never  stand  that !  Oh,  I  must  give  it  to  Van  Tribber  .  .  . 
he'll  see  that  the  papers  have  it ! 

LORD  A.  But  hadn't  you  better  make  sure  that  it's 
really  .  .  . 

MRS.  is.  It  doesn't  make  the  slightest  difference ! 
Everybody  will  know  that  it's  true! 

GER.  They  are  ready  to  believe  anything  about  Prince 
Hagen. 

MRS.  is.  Certainly,  after  a  glimpse  of  this  palace.  Did 
you  ever  see  such  frantic  money-spending  in  your  life? 

LORD  A.     Never! 

MRS.  is.     Gold!     Gold!     I  am  positively  blinded  with 


196  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  m 

the  sight  of  gold.  I'd  seen  every  kind  of  decoration  and 
furniture,  I  thought  .  .  .  but  solid  gold  is  new  to  me ! 

LORD  A.  Just  look  at  this  cup,  for  instance !  [Points  to 
coronation  cup.~]  And  those  fountains  ...  I  believe  that 
even  the  basins  are  of  gold. 

MRS.  is.     Perhaps  we  could  stop  the  water  and  see. 

LORD  A.  I  must  go  ...  I  have  a  dance.  I  am  sorry 
not  to  see  your  daughter. 

MRS.  is.  Yes  ...  it  was  too  bad  she  couldn't  come. 
Good-bye. 

LORD  ALDERDYCE  exit. 

MRS.  is.  [Pointing  to  throne.']  Look  at  that  thing, 
Gerald ! 

GER.     Yes  ...  no  wonder  the  crowd  came ! 

MRS.  is.  I  imagine  a  good  many  came  because  they 
didn't  dare  stay  away.  They  certainly  can't  be  enjoying 
themselves  after  such  a  day  down  town. 

GER.  It  was  too  bad  the  panic  should  come  just  on  the 
eve  of  the  ball. 

MRS.  is.  My  dear  Gerald !  That's  his  sense  of  humor ! 
He  wanted  to  bring  them  here  and  set  them  to  dancing 
and  grinning,  while  in  their  hearts  they  are  frightened 
to  death. 

GER.     How  did  he  do  it,  anyway? 

MRS.  is.  Why,  he  seems  to  have  money  without  limit 
.  .  .  and  he's  been  buying  and  buying  .  .  .  everything  in 
sight !  You  know  how  prices  have  been  soaring  the  past 
two  months.  And  of  course  the  public  went  wild,  and 
took  to  speculating.  Then  Prince  Hagen  sold;  and  the 
bottom  has  simply  dropped  out  of  everything. 

GER.  I  see.  And  do  you  suppose  the  slump  has  hit 
father  ? 

MRS.  is.  I  don't  know.  He  won't  talk  to  me  about  it. 
But  it's  easy  to  see  how  distressed  he  is.  And  then,  to 


ACT  m]  PRINCE  HAGEN  197 

cap  the  climax,  Estelle   refuses  to  come  here!     Prince 
Hagen  is  certain  to  be  furious. 

GER.     For  my  part,  I  admire  her  courage. 

MRS.  is.  But,  Gerald  ...  we  can't  afford  to  defy  this 
man. 

GER.    Estelle  can  afford  it,  I  hope. 

MRS.  is.  Here  comes  your  father  now.  Look  at  him ! 
Gerald,  won't  you  go,  please  ...  I  want  to  have  a  talk 
with  him. 

GER.    All  right. 
Exit,  right. 

MRS.  is.    John ! 

ISMAN.     [Enters,  left,  pale  and  depressed.]    What  is  it  ? 

MRS.  is.    You  look  so  haggard  and  worried! 

is.     I  am  worried ! 

MRS.  is.     You  ought  to  be  home  in  bed. 

is.     I  couldn't  sleep.     What  good  would  it  do? 

MRS.  is.     Aren't  you  going  to  get  any  rest  at  all? 

is.  It's  time  for  reports  from  the  London  markets 
pretty  soon.  They  open  at  five  o'clock,  by  our  time.  And 
I'm  hoping  there  may  be  some  support  for  Intercontinen 
tal  ...  it's  my  last  hope ! 

MRS.  is.     Oh,  dear  me !     Dear  me ! 

is.  If  that  fails,  there  is  nothing  left  for  us.  We  are 
ruined!  Utterly  ruined! 

MRS.  is.    John! 

is.    We  shall  be  paupers! 

MRS.  is.  John  Isman,  that's  absurd!  A  man  who's 
worth  a  hundred  million  dollars,  like  you  .  .  . 

is.     It'll  be  gone  ...  all  of  it! 

MRS.  is.     Gone? 

is.  Do  you  realize  that  to-day  I  had  to  sell  every  dollar 
of  my  Transatlantic  stock? 

MRS.  is.     [Horrified.']     Good  God! 


198  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  in 

is.  There  has  never  been  a  day  like  it  in  all  history ! 
There  are  no  words  to  tell  about  it ! 

MRS.  is.    Oh,  that  monster! 

is.  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  the  man  seems  to  be  after 
me  particularly!  Everything  I  rely  upon  seems  to  col 
lapse  .  .  .  everywhere  I  turn  I  find  that  I'm  blocked. 

MRS.  is.  Oh,  it  must  have  been  because  of  that  affair 
in  our  house  .  .  .  and  in  the  saloon  that  dreadful  night. 
We  ought  never  to  have  gone  to  that  place !  I  knew 
as  soon  as  I  laid  eyes  on  the  man  that  he'd  do  us  harm. 

is.  We  must  keep  out  of  his  power.  We  must  save 
what  we  can  from  the  wreck  and  learn  to  do  with  it. 
You'll  have  to  give  up  your  Newport  plans  this  year. 

MRS.  is.     [Aghast.]     What! 

is.     We  won't  be  able  to  op^en  the  house. 

MRS.  is.    You're  mad! 

is.     My  dear  .  .  . 

MRS.  is.  Now,  John  Isman,  you  listen  to  me!  I  was 
quite  sure  you  had  some  such  idea  in  your  mind !  And 
I  tell  you  right  now,  I  simply  will  not  hear  of  it !  I  ... 

is.     But  what  can  we  do,  my  dear? 

MRS.  is.  I  don't  know  what  we  can  do!  But  you'll 
have  to  raise  money  somehow.  I  will  not  surrender  my 
social  position  to  Mrs.  Bagley- Willis  .  .  .  not  for  all  the 
Wall  Street  panics  in  the  world.  Oh,  that  man  is  a  fiend ! 
I  tell  you,  John  Isman  .  .  . 

is.     Control  yourself ! 

HAGEN.  [Off  right.]  Very  well !  I  shall  be  charmed, 
I'm  sure.  [Enters.]  Oh !  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Isman  ? 

MRS.  is.  Oh,  Prince  Hagen,  a  most  beautiful  evening 
you've  given  us. 

HAGEN.     Ah !     I'm  glad  if  you've  enjoyed  it. 

MRS.  is.     Yes,  indeed  .  .  . 

is.     Prince  Hagen,  may  I  have  a  few  words  with  you? 

HAGEN.     Why,  surely  ...  if  you  wish  .  .  . 


ACT  m]  PRINCE  HAGEN  199 

is.     I  do. 

MRS.  is.     Prince  Hagen  will  excuse  me. 
Exit,  left. 

HAGEN.  {Goes  to  table,  centre,  and  sits  opposite  ISMAN.] 
Well? 

is.     Prince  Hagen,  what  do  you  want  with  me? 

HAGEN.  [Surprised.']  Why  ...  the  pleasure  of  your 
company. 

is.     I  mean  in  the  Street. 

HAGEN.     Oh  !    Have  you  been  hit? 

is.  Don't  mock  me.  You  have  used  your  resources 
deliberately  to  ruin  me.  You  have  followed  me  .  .  .  you 
have  taken  every  railroad  in  which  I  am  interested,  and 
driven  it  to  the  wall.  And  I  ask  you,  man  to  man,  what 
do  you  want? 

HAGEN.  [After  some  thought.']  Isman,  listen  to  me. 
You  remember  four  months  ago  I  offered  you  a  business 
alliance? 

is.  I  had  no  idea  of  your  resources  then.  Had  I 
known,  I  should  not  have  rejected  your  offer.  Am  I  being 
punished  for  that? 

HAGEN.  No,  Isman  ...  it  isn't  punishment.  Had  you 
gone  into  the  alliance  with  me  it  would  have  been  just  the 
same.  It  was  my  purpose  to  get  you  into  my  power. 

is.    Oh! 

HAGEN.  To  bring  you  here  ...  to  make  you  sit  down 
before  me,  and  ask,  What  do  you  want?  .  .  .  And  so  I 
will  tell  you  what  I  want,  man  to  man !  [A  pause.]  I 
want  your  daughter. 

is.     [Starts.]    What ! 

HAGEN.     I  want  your  daughter. 

is.     Good  God ! 

HAGEN.     Do  you  understand  now? 

is.     [Whispering. 1     I  understand! 

HAGEN.     Isman,  you  are  a  man  of  the  world,  and  we 


200  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  in 

can  talk  together.  I  love  your  daughter,  and  I  wish  to 
make  her  my  wife. 

is.     And  so  you  ruined  me ! 

HAGEN.  Four  months  ago  I  was  an  interloper  and  an 
adventurer.  In  a  month  or  two  I  shall  be  the  master  of 
your  financial  and  political  world.  Then  I  had  nothing 
to  offer  your  daughter.  Now  I  can  make  her  the  first 
lady  of  the  land. 

is.  But,  man,  we  don't  sell  our  children  .  .  .  not  in 
America. 

HAGEN.  Don't  talk  to  me  like  a  fool,  Isman.  I  never 
have  anything  to  do  with  your  shams. 

is.     But  the  girl !    She  must  consent ! 

HAGEN.  I'll  attend  to  that.  Meantime,  I  want  you  to 
know  what  I  mean.  On  the  day  that  your  daughter  mar 
ries  me  I  will  put  you  at  the  head  of  my  interests,  and 
make  you  the  second  richest  man  in  America.  You  un 
derstand? 

is.     [Weakly.']     I  understand. 

HAGEN.  Very  well.  And  don't  forget  to  tell  your  wife 
about  it.  [He  rises.] 

is.     Is  that  all? 

HAGEN.  No;  one  thing  more.  Your  daughter  is  not 
here  to-night. 

is.     No. 

HAGEN.    I  wish  her  to  come. 

is.     But  .  .  .  she  is  indisposed ! 

HAGEN.     That  is  a  pretext.    She  did  not  want  to  come. 

is.     Possibly  .  .  . 

HAGEN.     Tell  her  to  come. 

is.     [Startled.]     What  ?    Now  ?    It  is  too  late ! 

HAGEN.  Nonsense.  Your  home  is  only  a  block  away. 
Telephone  to  her. 

is.     [Dismayed.]     But  .  .  .  she  will  not  be  ready. 

HAGEN.    Tell  her  to  come!    Whatever  she  is  wearing, 


ACT  in]  PRINCE  HAGEN  201 

she  will  outshine  them  all.  [ISMAN  hesitates  a  moment, 
as  if  to  speak,  then  goes  off,  right,  half  dazed;  the  other 
watches  him,  laughing  silently  to  himself.]  That's  all 
right !  [Sees  Calkins.']  Ah,  Calkins  ! 

CALKINS.  [Enters  with  an  armful  of  papers.]  Here 
are  the  morning  papers,  Prince. 

HAGEN.  Ah!  [Takes  them.'}  Still  moist!  Did  you 
think  I  wanted  them  that  badly? 

CAL.     Promptness  never  harms. 

HAGEN.  [Opening  papers.]  That's  true.  Ah,  they 
hardly  knew  which  was  more  important  .  .  .  the  ball  or 
the  panic!  We  filled  them  up  pretty  full.  Did  you  see 
if  they  followed  the  proofs? 

CAL.     There  are  no  material  changes. 

HAGEN.  Ha !  Ha !  Cartoons !  Prince  Hagen  invites 
the  Four  Hundred  with  one  hand  and  knocks  them  down 
with  the  other!  Pretty  good!  Pretty  good!  What's 
this?  Three  millions  to  decorate  his  palaces  .  .  .  half  a 
million  for  a  single  ball? 

CAL.     I  suppose  they  couldn't  credit  the  figures. 

HAGEN.  Humph !  We'll  educate  them !  [Sweeps  pa 
pers  out  of  the  way]  So  much  for  that !  Were  all  the 
orders  for  the  London  opening  gone  over? 

CAL.     All  correct,  Prince. 

HAGEN.  Very  good !  That's  all.  [CAL.  exit]  They're 
all  anxious  about  London  ...  I  can  see  it !  Ah,  Gerald ! 

GER.     [Enters,  right]     Hello! 

HAGEN.     [Smiling.]     You  see,  they  came  to  my  party ! 

GER.    Yes. 

HAGEN.  They  smile  and  chatter  .  .  .  they  bow  and 
cringe  to  me  .  .  .  and  I  have  not  preached  any  of  your 
Christian  virtues,  either! 

GER.  No.  I  grant  it.  It's  a  very  painful  sight.  [After 
a  pause.]  That  was  a  pleas  *  fancy  ...  to  have  a  panic 
on  the  eve  of  your  ball ! 


202  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  m 

HAGEN.  It  wasn't  nearly  as  bad  as  I  meant  it  to  be. 
Wait  and  see  to-day's ! 

GER.     What's  the  end  of  it  all  ? 

HAGEN.  The  end?  Why  have  an  end?  I  didn't  make 
this  game  ...  I  play  it  according  to  other  men's  rules. 
I  buy  and  sell  stocks,  and  make  what  money  I  can.  The 
end  may  take  care  of  itself. 

GER.     It's  rather  hard  on  the  helpless  people,  isn't  it? 

HAGEN.  Humph  !  The  people  !  [After  a  pause.]  Ger 
ald,  this  world  of  yours  has  always  seemed  to  me  like  a 
barrel  full  of  rats.  There's  only  room  for  a  certain  num 
ber  on  top,  and  the  rest  must  sweat  for  it  till  they  die. 

GER.     It's  not  a  very  pleasant  image  to  think  of. 

HAGEN.  I  don't  think  of  it.  I  simply  happen  to  find 
myself  on  top,  and  I  stay  there  and  enjoy  the  view.  [Seats 
himself  at  table.']  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Gerald,  one  of 
the  things  I  intend  to  do  with  this  world  is  to  clean  it 
up.  Don't  imagine  that  I  will  tolerate  such  stupid  waste 
as  we  have  at  present  .  .  .  everybody  trying  to  cheat 
everybody  else,  and  nobody  to  keep  the  streets  clean. 
It's  as  if  a  dozen  men  should  go  out  into  a  field  to  catch 
a  horse,  and  spend  all  their  time  in  trying  to  keep  each 
other  from  catching  it.  When  I  take  charge  they'll  catch 
the  horse. 

GER.     [Drily.]    And  you'll  ride  him. 

HAGEN.     And  I'll  ride  him. 
Laughs. 

GER.  [After  a  pause.]  At  first  I  couldn't  make  out 
why  you  bothered  with  this  Society  game.  Now  I  begin 
to  understand.  You  wanted  to  see  them ! 

HAGEN.  I  wanted  to  watch  them  wriggle !  I  wanted 
to  take  them,  one  by  one,  and  strip  off  their  shams !  Take 
that  fellow  Rutherford,  the  steel  man !  Or  Plimpton,  the 
coal  baron,  casting  his  eyes  up  to  heaven,  and  singing 
psalms  through  his  nose !  The  instant  I  laid  eyes  on  that 


ACT  ni]  PRINCE  HAGEN  203 

whining  old  hypocrite,  I  hated  him ;  and  I  vowed  I'd  never 
rest  again  till  I'd  shown  him  as  he  is  ...  a  coward  and 
a  knave!  And  I  tell  you,  Gerald,  before  I  get  through 
with  him  .  .  .  Ah,  there  he  is! 

PLIM.     [Off.]     Hello,  Isman! 

HAGEN.    Come. 

Draws  back  with  GERALD. 

is.  [Entering,  right,  with  PLIMPTON  and  RUTHEFFORD.] 
rAny  word  yet? 

PLIM.     Nothing  yet! 

RUTH.     Such  a  night  as  this  has  been ! 

is.  If  the  thing  keeps  up  to-day  the  Exchange  will 
have  to  close  .  .  .  there  will  be  no  help  for  it. 

PLIM.     We  are  in  the  hands  of  a  madman! 

RUTH.  We  must  have  a  conference  with  him  ...  we 
must  find  out  what  he  wants. 

is.     Did  you  speak  to  him,  Plimpton? 

PLIM.  I  tried  to.  I  might  as  well  have  butted  my  head 
against  a  stone  wall.  "I  have  money,"  he  said,  "and  I 
wish  to  buy  and  sell  stocks.  Isn't  that  my  right?" 

RUTH.     He's  a  fiend!    A  fiend! 

PLIM.  He  smiled  as  he  shook  my  hand  .  .  .  and  he 
knows  that  if  coal  stocks  go  down  another  ten  points  I'll 
be  utterly  ruined ! 

is.     Terrible !    Terrible ! 

PLIM.  [To  RUTHERFORD.]  Rutherford,  have  you  learned 
any  more  about  where  his  money  comes  from? 

RUTH.  I  meant  to  tell  you  .  .  .  I've  had  another  re 
port.  The  mystery  deepens  every  hour.  It's  always  the 
same  thing  .  .  .  the  man  takes  a  train  and  goes  out  into 
the  country;  he  gathers  all  the  wagons  for  miles  around, 
and  goes  to  some  place  in  the  woods  .  .  .  and  there  is  a 
pile  of  gold,  fifty  tons  of  it,  maybe,  covered  over  with 
brush.  Nobody  knows  how  it  got  there,  nobody  has  time 


PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  m 

to  ask.  He  loads  it  into  the  wagons,  takes  it  aboard  the 
train,  and  brings  it  to  the  Sub-treasury. 

is.  The  man's  an  alchemist !  He's  been  manufacturing 
it  and  getting  ready. 

RUTH.  Perhaps.  Who  can  tell?  All  I  know  is  the 
Sub-treasury  has  bought  over  two  billion  dollars'  worth 
of  gold  bullion  in  the  last  four  months  .  .  .  and  what  can 
we  do  in  the  face  of  that? 

PLIM.     No  wonder  that  prices  went  up  to  the  skies  ! 

RUTH.  I  had  the  White  House  on  the  'phone  this  after 
noon.  We  can  demonetize  gold  ...  the  government  can 
refuse  to  buy  any  more. 

is.     But  then  what  would  become  of  credit? 

PLIM.  [Vehemently.']  No,  no  .  .  .  that  will  not  help  ! 
[Gases  about  nervously.]  There's  only  one  thing.  [Whis 
pers.]  That  man  must  be  killed ! 

RUTH.     [Horrified.]    Ah ! 

is.     No. 

PLIM.  Just  that !  Nothing  else  will  help  !  And  instantly 
...  or  it  will  be  too  late. 

is.     Plimpton ! 

PLIM.  He  must  not  be  alive  when  the  Exchange  opens 
this  morning! 

RUTH.     But  how? 

PLIM.  I  don't  know  .  .  .  but  we  must  find  a  way !  We 
owe  it  as  a  public  duty  ...  the  man  is  a  menace  to 
society.  Rutherford,  you  are  with  me? 

RUTH.     By  God!    I  am! 

is.    You're  mad ! 

PLIM.    You  don't  agree  with  me? 

is.  It's  not  to  be  thought  of !  You're  forgetting  your 
self,  Plimpton  .  .  . 

PLIM.  [Gazing  about.']  This  is  no  place  to  discuss  it. 
But  I  tell  you  that  if  there  is  no  support  from  London  .  .  . 

RUTH.     [Starting]     Come  .  .  .  perhaps  there  may  be 


ACT  m]  PRINCE  H4GEN  ?>().", 

word!    [They  start  left.}    We  may  beat  them  yet   ... 
who  can  tell? 

PLIMPTON,  RUTHERFORD  and   ISMAN   go   off. 

HAGEN.  [Emerges  with  GERALD  from  shadows,  shaking 
with  laughter.']  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Love  and  self-sacrifice! 
You  see,  Gerald! 

GER.  Yes  ...  I  see!  [Looks  right  .  .  .  then  starts 
violently.]  My  sister ! 

HAGEN.     Ah ! 

GER.     What  does  this  mean? 

HAGEN.  [To  ESTELLE,  who  enters,  right,  evidently  agi 
tated.']  Miss  Isman! 

EST.     My  father  said  .  .  . 

HAGEN.     Yes.     Won't  you  sit  down? 

EST.     [Hesitatingly.']    Why  ...  I  suppose  so  ... 

HAGEN.        [To    GERALD.]         Will    yOU    CXCUSC    US,    please, 

Gerald? 

GER.     [Amazed.]     Why,  yes  ...  but  Estelle  .  .  . 

EST.     [In  a  faint  voice.]     Please  go,  Gerald. 

GER.     Oh  !  very  well. 
Exit,  left. 

EST.    You  wished  to  see  me. 

HAGEN.  Yes.  [Sitting  opposite.]  How  do  you  like  it 
all? 

EST.     It  is  very  beautiful. 

HAGEN.     Do  you  really  think  so? 

EST.     [Wondering.]     Don't  you? 

HAGEN.       No. 

EST.     Truly  ? 

HAGEN.      No. 

EST.     Then  why  did  you  do  it? 

HAGEN.    To  please  you. 

EST.     [Shrinks.]     Oh ! 

HAGEN.     [Fixes  his  gaze  on  her,  and  slowly  leans  across 


206  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  m 

table;  with  intensity.']  Haven't  you  discovered  yet  that 
you  are  mine? 

EST.     [Half  rising.']     Prince  Hagen ! 

HAGEN.     How  long  will  it  be  before  you  know  it? 

EST.     How  dare  you? 

HAGEN.  Listen.  I  am  a  man  accustomed  to  command. 
I  have  no  time  to  play  with  conventions  ...  I  can 
not  dally  and  plead.  But  I  love  you.  I  cannot  live  without 
you!  And  I  will  shake  the  foundations  of  the  world  to 
get  you ! 

EST.     [Staring,  fascinated;  whispers.]     Prince  Hagen ! 

HAGEN.  All  this  .  .  .  [waving  his  hand]  I  did  in  the 
hope  that  it  would  bring  you  here  ...  so  that  I  might 
have  a  chance  to  tell  you.  Simply  for  that  one  purpose. 
I  have  broken  the  business  world  to  my  will  .  .  .  that 
also  was  to  make  you  mine ! 

EST.     [Wildly.]     You  have  ruined  my  father! 

HAGEN.  Your  father  has  played  this  game,  and  his 
path  is  strewn  with  the  rivals  he  has  ruined.  He  knows 
that,  and  you  know  it.  Now  /  have  played  the  game ;  and 
I  have  beaten  him.  It  took  me  one  day  to  bring  him 
down  .  .  .  [Laughs.]  It  will  take  me  less  time  to  put 
him  back  again. 

EST.     But  why,  why  ? 

HAGEN.  Listen,  Estelle.  I  came  to  this  civilization  of 
yours,  and  looked  at  it.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  built 
upon  knavery  and  fraud  .  .  .  that  it  was  altogether  a 
vile  thing  .  .  .  rotten  to  the  core  of  it !  And  I  said  I 
would  smash  it,  as  a  child  smashes  a  toy;  I  would  toss 
it  about  ...  as  your  brother  the  poet  tosses  his  meta 
phors.  But  then  I  saw  you,  and  in  a  flash  all  that  was 
changed.  You  were  beautiful  .  .  .  you  were  interesting. 
You  were  something  in  the  world  worth  winning  .  .  . 
something  I  had  not  known  about  before.  But  you  stood 


ACT  in]  PRINCE  HAGEN  207 

upon  the  pinnacle  of  Privilege  .  .  .  you  gathered  the 
clouds  about  your  head.  How  should  I  climb  to  you? 

EST.     [Frightened.]     I  see! 

HAGEN.  I  came  to  your  home  ...  I  was  turned  from 
the  door.  So  I  set  to  work  to  break  my  way  to  you. 

EST.    I  see! 

HAGEN.  And  that  is  how  I  love  you.  You  are  all  there 
is  in  the  game  to  me.  I  bring  the  world  and  lay  it  at 
your  feet.  It  is  all  yours.  You  do  not  like  what  I  do 
with  it,  perhaps.  Very  well  .  .  .  take  it  and  do  better. 
The  power  is  yours  for  the  asking !  Power  without  end ! 
[He  readies  out  his  arms  to  her;  a  pause.]  You  do  not 
like  my  way  of  love-making,  perhaps.  You  find  me  harsh 
and  rude.  But  I  love  you.  And  where,  among  the  men 
that  you  know,  will  you  find  one  who  can  feel  for  you 
what  I  feel  .  .  .  who  would  dare  for  you  what  I  have 
dared?  [Gazes  at  her  with  intensity.']  Take  your  time. 
I  have  no  wish  to  hurry  you.  But  you  must  know  that, 
wherever  you  go,  my  hand  is  upon  you.  All  that  I  do,  I 
do  for  the  love  of  you. 

EST.     [Weakly.']     I  ...  you   frighten  me! 

HAGEN.    All  the  world  I  lay  at  your  feet !   You  shall  see. 

PLIM.     [Off  left.]    Prince  Hagen  ! 

HAGEN.     [Starting.]     Ah ! 

PLIM.  [Enters,  running,  in  great  agitation,  with  a  tele 
gram.]  Prince  Hagen ! 

HAGEN.     Well? 

PLIM.  I  have  a  report  from  London.  The  market  has 
gone  all  to  pieces ! 

HAGEN.     Ah ! 

PLIM.  Pennsylvania  coal  is  down  twenty-five  points  in 
the  first  half  hour.  I'm  lost  .  .  .  everything  is  lost! 

RUTH.  [Running  on.]  Prince  Hagen!  Steel  is  down 
to  four !  And  the  Bank  of  England  suspends  payments ! 
What  . 


208  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  m 

PLIM.  What  do  you  want  with  us?  What  are  you  try 
ing  to  do? 

RUTH.  [Wildly.]  You've  crushed  us !  We're  helpless, 
utterly  helpless ! 

PLIM.  Have  you  no  mercy  ?  Aren't  you  satisfied  when 
you've  got  us  down? 

RUTH.  Are  you  going  to  ruin  everybody?  Are  you  a 
madman  ? 

PLIM.     What  are  you  trying  to  do  ?    What  do  you  want  ? 

HAGEN.  [Has  been  listening  in  silence.  Suddenly  he 
leaps  into  action,  an  expression  of  furious  rage  coming 
upon  his  face.  His  eyes  gleam,  and  he  raises  his  hand  as 
if  to  strike  the  two.]  Get  down  on  your  knees ! 

PLIM.    Ha ! 

RUTH.     What? 

HAGEN.  [Louder.]  Get  down  on  your  knees  !  [PLIMP 
TON  sinks  in  horror.  PRINCE  HAGEN  turns  upon  RUTHER 
FORD.]  Down ! 

RUTH.     [Sinking.]     Mercy ! 

HAGEN.  [As  they  kneel  before  him,  his  anger  vanishes; 
he  steps  back.]  There  !  [Waving  his  hand.]  You  asked 
me  what  I  wanted?  I  wanted  this  ...  to  see  you  there 
.  .  .  upon  your  knees !  [To  spectators,  who  appear  right 
and  left.]  Behold ! 

RUTH.     Oh ! 

Starts  to  rise. 

HAGEN.  [Savagely.]  Stay  where  you  are !  .  .  .  To  see 
you  on  your  knees !  To  hear  you  crying  for  mercy,  which 
you  will  not  get !  You  pious  plunderers !  Devourers  of 
the  people !  Assassins  of  women  and  helpless  children ! 
Who  made  the  rules  of  this  game  .  .  .  you  or  I?  Who 
cast  the  halo  of  righteousness  about  it  ...  who  sanctified 
it  by  the  laws  of  God  and  man?  Property!  Property 
was  holy !  Property  must  rule !  You  carved  it  into  your 
constitutions  .  .  .  you  taught  it  in  your  newspapers,  you 


- 


ACT  in]  PRINCE  HAGEN  ?><)<) 

preached  it  from  your  pulpits !  You  screwed  down  wages, 
you  screwed  up  prices  ...  it  must  be  right,  because  it 
paid !  Money  was  the  test  .  .  .  money  was  the  end  !  You 
were  business  men  !  Practical  men  !  Don't  you  know  the 
phrases?  Money  talks!  Business  is  business!  The  gold 
standard  .  .  .  ha,  ha,  ha !  The  gold  standard !  Now 
someone  has  come  who  has  more  gold  than  you.  You 
were  masters  .  .  .  now  /  am  the  master !  And  what  you 
have  done  to  the  people  I  will  do  to  you !  You  shall  drink 
the  cup  that  you  have  poured  out  for  them  .  .  .  you  shall 
drink  it  to  the  dregs ! 

PLIM.     [Starting  to  rise.']    Monster ! 

HAGEN.  Stay  where  you  are!  Cringe  and  grovel  and 
whine !  [Draws  a  Nibclung  whip  from  under  his  coat.'] 
I  will  put  the  lash  upon  your  backs !  I  will  strip  your 
shams  from  you  ...  I  will  see  you  as  you  are !  I  will 
take  away  your  wealth,  that  you  have  wrung  from  others ! 
Before  I  get  through  with  you  you  shall  sweat  with  the 
toilers  in  the  trenches!  For  I  am  the  master  now!  / 
have  the  gold  !  /  own  the  property  !  The  world  is  mine  ! 
You  were  lords  and  barons  .  .  .  you  ruled  in  your  little 
principalities !  But  I  shall  rule  everywhere  .  .  .  every 
thing  .  .  .  all  civilization  !  I  shall  be  king !  King!  [With 
exultant  gesture.']  Make  way  for  the  king!  Make  way 
for  the  king! 

CURTAIN 


210  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  iv 


ACT  IV 

The  scene  shows  a  spacious  room,  fitted  with  luxurious 
rusticity.  To  the  right  of  centre  are  a  couple  of 
broad  windows,  leading  to  a  veranda.  In  the  cor 
ner,  right  is  a  table,  with  a  telephone.  In  the 
centre  of  the  room  is  a  large  table,  with  a  lamp  and 
books,  and  a  leather  arm-chair  at  each  side.  To 
the  left  of  centre  is  a  spacious  stone  fireplace,  hav 
ing  within  it  a  trap  door  opening  downward.  At 
the  left  a  piano  with  a  violin  upon  it.  There  are 
exposed  oak  beams;  antlers,  riiles,  snowshoes,  etc., 
upon  the  walls.  Entrances  right  and  left. 

At  rise:  CALKINS,  standing  by  the  desk,  arranging  some 
papers. 

CALKINS.  [As  'phone  rings.]  Hello !  Yes,  this  is  the 
Isman  camp.  Prince  Hagen  is  staying  here.  This  is  his 
secretary  speaking.  No,  Prince  Hagen  does  not  receive 
telephone  calls.  No,  not  under  any  circumstances  what 
ever.  It  doesn't  make  any  difference.  If  the  President 
of  the  United  States  has  anything  to  say  to  Prince  Hagen, 
let  him  communicate  with  Mr.  Isman  at  his  New  York 
office,  and  the  message  will  reach  him.  I  am  sorry  .  .  . 
those  are  my  instructions.  Good-bye.  [To  HICKS,  who 
enters  with  telegramJ]  Hicks,  for  the  future,  Prince 
Hagen  wishes  all  messages  for  him  to  be  taken  to  my 
office.  That  applies  to  letters,  telegrams  .  .  .  everything. 

HICKS.     Very  good,  sir. 
Exit. 

CAL.     [Opening  a  telegram.']     More  appeals  for  mercy. 


ACT  iv]  PRINCE  HAGEN 

HAGEN.  [Enters  from  veranda,  wearing  white  flannels, 
cool  and  alert.]  Well,  Calkins? 

CAL.     Nothing  important,  sir. 

HAGEN.     The  market  continues  to  fall? 

CAL.     Copper  is  off  five  points,  sir. 

HAGEN.     Ah ! 

CAL.  The  President  of  the  United  States  tried  to  get 
you  on  the  'phone  just  now. 

HAGEN.     Humph!     Anything  else? 

CAL.  There  has  been  another  mob  on  Fifth  Avenue  this 
morning.  They  seem  to  be  threatening  your  palace. 

HAGEN.     I  see.    You  wrote  to  the  mayor,  as  I  told  you  ? 

CAL.     Yes,  sir. 

HAGEN.  Well,  you'd  best  put  in  another  hundred  guards. 
And  they're  to  be  instructed  to  shoot. 

CAL.    Yes,  sir. 

HAGEN.  Let  them  be  men  we  can  depend  on  ...  I 
don't  want  any  mistake  about  it.  I  don't  care  about  the 
building,  but  I  mean  to  make  a  test  of  it. 

CAL.     I'll  see  to  it,  sir. 

HAGEN.    Anything  else? 

CAL.  A  message  from  a  delegation  from  the  National 
Unemployment  Conference.  They  are  to  call  to-morrow 
morning. 

HAGEN.  Ah,  yes.  Make  a  note,  please  ...  I  sympa 
thize  with  their  purpose,  and  contribute  half  a  million. 
[To  GERALD,  who  enters,  left.]  Hello,  Gerald  .  .  .  how 
are  you?  Make  yourself  at  home.  [To  CALKINS.]  I 
attribute  the  present  desperate  situation  to  the  anarchical 
struggles  of  rival  financial  interests.  I  am  assuming  con 
trol,  and  straightening  out  the  tangle  as  rapidly  as  I  can. 
The  worst  of  the  crisis  is  over  ...  the  opposition  is 
capitulating,  and  I  expect  soon  to  order  a  general  resump 
tion  of  industry.  Prepare  me  an  address  of  five  hundred 
words  .  .  .  sharp  and  snappy.  Then  see  the  head  of  the 


PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  iv 

delegation,  and  have  it  understood  that  the  affair  is  not 
to  occupy  more  than  fifteen  minutes. 

CAL.     Very  good,  sir. 

HAGEN.  And  stir  up  our  Press  Bureau.  We  must 
have  strong,  conservative  editorials  this  week  .  .  .  It's  the 
crucial  period.  Our  institutions  are  at  stake  ...  the  na 
tional  honor  is  imperilled  .  .  .  order  must  be  preserved 
at  any  hazard  ...  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

CAL.     Yes,   sir  ...  I  understand. 

HAGEN.    Very  good.    That  will  be  all 

CAL.     Yes,  sir. 
Exit,  right. 

GER.     You're  putting  the  screws  on,  are  you? 

HAGEN.  Humph !  Yes.  It's  funny  to  hear  these  finan 
cial  men  .  .  .  their  one  idea  in  life  has  been  to  dominate 
.  .  .  and  now  they  cry  out  against  tyranny ! 

GER.     I  can  imagine  it. 

HAGEN.  Here's  Plimpton,  making  speeches  about  Amer 
ican  democracy !  These  fellows  have  got  so  used  to  mak 
ing  pretenses  that  they  actually  deceive  themselves. 

GER.     I've  noticed  that  you  make  a  few  yourself  now. 

HAGEN.  Yes  .  .  .  don't  I  do  it  well?  [Thoughtfully.'] 
You  know,  Gerald,  pretenses  are  the  greatest  device  that 
your  civilization  had  to  teach  me. 

GER.     Indeed  ? 

HAGEN.  We  never  made  any  pretenses  in  Nibelheim; 
and  when  I  first  met  you,  your  talk  about  virtue  and 
morality  and  self-sacrifice  was  simply  incomprehensible 
to  me.  It  seemed  something  quite  apart  from  life.  But 
now  I've  come  to  perceive  that  this  is  what  makes  pos 
sible  the  system  under  which  you  live. 

GER.     Explain  yourself. 

HAGEN.  Here  is  this  civilization  .  .  .  simply  appalling 
in  its  vastness.  The  countless  millions  of  your  people, 
the  wealth  you  have  piled  up  ...  it  seems  like  a  huge 


ACT  iv]  PRINCE  HAGEN  213 

bubble  that  may  burst  any  minute.     And  the  one  device 
by  which  it  is  all  kept  together  ...  is  pretense ! 

GER.     Why  do  you  think  that  ? 

HAGEN.  Life,  Gerald,  is  the  survival  of  the  strong.  I 
care  not  if  it  be  in  a  jungle  or  in  a  city,  it  is  the  warfare 
of  each  against  all.  But  in  the  former  case  it's  brute 
force,  and  in  the  latter  it's  power  of  mind.  And  don't 
you  see  that  the  ingenious  device  which  makes  the  animal 
of  the  slums  the  docile  slave  of  the  man  who  can  outwit 
him  ...  is  this  Morality  .  .  .  this  absolutely  sublimest 
invention,  this  most  daring  conception  that  ever  flashed 
across  the  mind  of  man? 

GER.     Oh,  I  see. 

HAGEN.  I  used  to  wonder  at  it  down  there  on  the  Bow 
ery.  The  poor  are  a  thousand  to  your  one,  and  the  best 
that  is  might  be  theirs,  if  they  chose  to  take  it;  but  there 
is  Morality!  They  call  it  their  virtue.  And  so  the  rich 
man  may  have  his  vices  in  peace.  By  heaven,  if  that  is 
not  a  wondrous  achievement,  I  have  not  seen  one ! 

GER.  You  believe  this  morality  was  invented  by  the 
rich. 

HAGEN.  I  don't  know.  It  seems  to  be  a  congenital 
disease. 

GER.  Some  people  believe  it  was  implanted  in  man  by 
God. 

HAGEN.  [Shrugging  his  shoulders.']  Perhaps.  Or  by 
a  devil.  Men  might  have  lived  in  holes,  like  woodchucks, 
and  been  fat  and  happy ;  but  now  they  have  Morality,  and 
toil  and  die  for  some  other  man's  delight. 

CAL.     [Enters,  right.]    Are  you  at  leisure,  sir? 

HAGEN.     Why? 

CAL.    Mr.  Isman  wants  you  on  the  'phone. 

HAGEN.     Oh !     All  right  .  .  . 
Goes  to  'phone. 

GER.     [Rises.]     Perhaps  I  ... 


PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  iv 

HAGEN.  No,  that's  all  right.  [Sits  at  'phone.]  Hello ! 
Is  that  Isman?  How  are  you?  [To  CALKINS.]  Calkins! 

CAL.     Yes,   sir. 

Sits  and  takes  notes. 

HAGEN.  How  about  Intercontinental?  [Imperiously.] 
But  /  can !  I  said  the  stock  was  to  go  to  sixty-four,  and 
I  want  it  to  go.  I  don't  care  what  it  costs,  Isman  .  .  . 
let  it  go  in  the  morning  .  .  .  and  don't  ever  let  this  hap 
pen  again.  I  have  sent  word  you  are  to  have  another 
hundred  million  by  nine-thirty.  Will  that  do?  Don't 
take  chances.  Oh,  Rutherford  !  Tell  Rutherford  my  terms 
are  that  the  directors  of  the  Fidelity  Life  Insurance  Com 
pany  are  to  resign,  and  he  is  to  go  to  China  for  six 
months.  Yes.  I  mean  that  literally  .  .  .  Plimpton?  What 
do  I  want  with  his  banks  .  .  .  I've  got  my  own  money 
.  .  .  And,  oh,  by  the  way,  Isman  .  .  .  call  up  the  White 
House  again,  and  tell  the  President  that  the  regulars  will 
be  needed  in  New  York.  .  .  .  No,  I  understand  you  ...  I 
think  I've  fixed  matters  up  at  this  end.  I've  got  two  hun 
dred  guards  up  here,  and  they're  picked  men  .  .  .  they'll 
shoot  if  there's  need.  I'm  not  talking  about  it,  naturally 
.  .  .  but  I'm  taking  care  of  myself.  You  keep  your  nerve, 
Isman.  It'll  all  be  over  in  a  month  or  two  more  .  .  .  these 
fellows  are  used  to  having  their  own  way,  and  they  make 
a  fuss.  And,  by  the  way,  as  to  the  newspapers  .  .  .  we'll 
turn  out  that  paper  trust  crowd,  and  stop  selling  paper 
to  the  ones  that  are  making  trouble.  That'll  put  an  end 
to  it,  I  fancy.  You  had  best  get  after  it  yourself,  and 
have  it  attended  to  promptly.  You  might  think  of  little 
things  like  that  yourself,  Isman  ...  no,  you're  all  right; 
only  you  haven't  got  enough  imagination.  But  just  get 
onto  this  job,  and  let  me  hear  that  it's  done  before  morn 
ing.  Good-bye.  [Hangs  up  receiver.']  Humph!  [To 
GERALD.]  They've  about  got  your  father's  nerve. 

GER.     I  can't  say   that  I  blame  him  very  much.     [In 


ACT  iv]  PRINCE  HAGEN  21/5 

sombre  thought.]  Really,  you  know,  Prince  Hagen,  this 
can't  go  on.  What's  to  be  the  end  of  it? 

HACEN.  [Laughing.']  Oh,  come,  come,  Gerald  .  .  . 
don't  bother  your  head  with  things  like  that !  You're  a 
poet  .  .  .  you  must  keep  your  imagination  free  from  such 
dismal  matters.  .  .  .  See,  I've  got  a  job  for  you.  [Point 
ing  to  books  on  table.]  Do  you  notice  the  titles? 

GER.  [Has  been  handling  the  books  absent-mind  cd  I  v ; 
now  looks  at  titles.]  The  Saints'  Everlasting  Rest.  Pil 
grim's  Progress.  The  Life  of  St.  Ignatius.  .  .  .  What 
does  that  mean? 

HAGEN.  I'm  studying  up  on  religion.  I  want  to  know 
the  language. 

GER.     I  see ! 

HAGEN.  But  I  don't  seem  to  get  hold  of  it  very  well. 
I  think  it's  the  job  for  you. 

GER.     How  do  you  mean  ? 

HAGEN.  I'm  getting  ready  to  introduce  Morality  into 
Nibelheim. 

GER.     \Vhat? 

HAGEN.  [Playfully.]  You  remember  you  talked  to  me 
about  it  a  long  time  ago.  And  now  I've  come  to  your  way 
of  thinking.  Suppose  I  gave  you  a  chance  to  civilize  the 
place,  to  teach  those  wretched  creatures  to  love  beauty 
and  virtue? 

GER.  It  would  depend  upon  what  your  motive  was  in 
inviting  me. 

HAGEN.  My  motive?  What  has  that  to  do  with  it? 
Virtue  is  virtue,  is  it  not?  .  .  .  No  matter  what  I  think 
about  it? 

GER.     Yes. 

HAGEN.     And  virtue  is  its  own  reward? 

GER.     Perhaps  so. 

HAGEN.  Let  us  grant  that  the  consequences  of  edu 
cating  and  elevating  the  Nibelungs  ...  of  teaching  them 


216  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  iv 

to  love  righteousness  .  .  .  would  be  that  they  were  de 
prived  of  all  their  gold,  and  forced  to  labor  at  getting 
more  for  a  wicked  capitalist  like  me.  Would  it  not  still 
be  right  to  teach  them  ? 

GER.     It  might,  perhaps. 

HAGEN.     Then  you  will  try  it? 

GER.     No  .  .  .  I'm  afraid  not. 

HAGEN.     Why  not? 

GER.  [Gravely.]  Well  ...  for  one  thing  ...  I  have 
weighty  reasons  for  doubting  the  perfectibility  of  the 
Nibelungs. 

HAGEN.  [Gases  at  him;  then  shakes  with  laughter.] 
Really,  Gerald,  that  is  the  one  clever  thing  I've  heard  you 
say! 

GER.     [Laughing.']     Thank  you ! 

HAGEN.  [Rises  and  looks  at  watch.']  Your  mother  was 
coming  down.  Ah  !  Mrs.  Isman  ! 

MRS.  is.     [Enters,  left.]   Good  afternoon,  Prince  Hagen. 

HAGEN.     And  how  go  things? 

MRS.  is.  I've  just  had  a  telegram  from  my  brother. 
He  says  that  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  never  goes 
abroad,  and  was  shocked  at  the  suggestion ;  but  he  thinks 
two  million  might  fetch  him. 

HAGEN.    Very  well  .  .  .  offer  it. 

MRS.  is.     Do  you  really  think  it's  worth  that  ? 

HAGEN.  My  dear  lady,  it  is  worth  anything  if  it  will 
make  you  happy  and  add  to  the  eclat  of  the  wedding. 
There's  nothing  too  good  for  Estelle. 

MRS.  is.  Ah,  what  a  wonderful  man  you  are.  [Eyeing 
him.]  I  was  wondering  how  rose  pink  would  go  with  your 
complexion. 

HAGEN.     Dear  me!    Am  I  to  wear  rose  pink? 

MRS.  is.  No,  but  I'm  planning  the  decoration  for  the 
wedding  breakfast.  .  .  .  And  I'm  puzzled  about  the  flow 
ers.  I'm  weary  of  orchids  and  la  France  roses  .  .  .  Mrs. 


ACT  iv]  PRINCE  HAGEN  217 

Bagley-Willis  had  her  ball  room  swamped  with  them  last 
week. 

HAGEN.  We  must  certainly  not  imitate  Mrs.  Bagley- 
Willis. 

MRS.  is.  [Complacently.']  I  fancy  she's  pretty  nearly 
at  the  end  of  her  rope.  My  maid  tells  me  she  couldn't 
pay  her  grocer's  bill  till  she  got  that  million  from  you ! 

HAGEN.     Ha,  ha,  ha! 

MRS.  is.  I  wish  you'd  come  with  me  for  a  moment  .  .  . 
I  have  some  designs  for  the  breakfast  menu  .  .  . 

HAGEN.     Delighted,  I'm  sure. 
They  go  off,  left. 

GER.    Oh,  my  God! 

EST.  [Enters  in  a  beautiful  afternoon  gown,  and  carry 
ing  an  armful  of  roses;  she  is  nervous  and  preoccupied.] 
Ah!  Gerald! 

GER.     Estelle. 

He  watches  her  in  silence;  she  arranges  flowers. 

EST.     How  goes  the  poem,  Gerald? 

GER.  The  poem !  Who  could  think  of  a  poem  at  a  time 
like  this?  [Advancing  toward  her.']  Estelle!  I  can  bear 
it  no  longer ! 

EST.     What? 

GER.  This  crime !  I  tell  you  it's  a  crime  you're  com 
mitting! 

EST.  Oh,  Gerald !  Don't  begin  that  again.  You  know 
it's  too  late.  And  it  tears  me  to  pieces ! 

GER.     I  can't  help  it.     I  must  say  it ! 

EST.  [Hurrying  toward  him.]  Brother !  You  must  not 
say  another  word  to  me !  I  tell  you  you  must  not  ...  I 
can't  bear  it ! 

GER.     Estelle  .  .  . 

EST.  No,  I  say  ...  no !  I've  given  my  word !  My 
honor  is  pledged,  and  it's  too  late  to  turn  back.  I  have 
permitted  father  to  incur  obligations  before  all  the  world 


218  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  iv 

GER.  But,  Estelle,  you  don't  know.  If  you  understood 
all  ...  all  ... 

EST.  [With  sudden  intensity J\  Gerald!  I  know  what 
you  mean  !  I  have  felt  it !  You  know  more  about  Prince 
Hagen  than  you  have  told  me.  There  is  some  secret — 
something  strange.  [She  stares  at  him  wildly.}  I  don't 
want  to  know  it!  Gerald  .  .  .  don't  you  understand?  We 
are  in  that  man's  hands!  We  are  at  his  mercy!  Don't 
you  know  that  he  would  never  give  me  up?  He  would 
follow  me  to  the  end  of  the  earth !  He  would  wreck  the 
whole  world  to  get  me  !  I  am  in  a  cage  with  a  wild  beast ! 
They  stare  at  each  other. 

GER.     [In  sudden  excitement."]    Estelle ! 

EST.     What? 

GER.     Can  it  be  that  you  love  this  man? 

EST.  [Startled.']  I  don't  know !  How  can  I  tell  ?  He 
terrifies  me.  He  fascinates  me.  I  don't  know  what  to 
make  of  him.  And  I  don't  dare  to  think.  [Wildly. ~] 
And  what  difference  does  it  make?  I  have  promised  to 
marry  him! 

MRS.  ISMAN  enters,  left,  and  listens. 

EST.  And  I  must  keep  my  word !  You  must  not  try  to 
dissuade  me  .  .  . 

MRS.  is.     Estelle ! 

EST.     Mother ! 

MRS.  is.  Has  Gerald  been  tormenting  you  again?  My 
child,  my  child  ...  I  implore  you,  don't  let  that  madness 
take  hold  of  you!  Think  of  our  position.  [Attempts  to 
embrace  her.~\  I  know  how  it  is  ...  I  went  through  with 
it  myself.  We  women  all  have  to  go  through  with  it.  I 
did  not  care  for  your  father  ...  it  nearly  broke  my  heart. 
I  was  madly  in  love  at  the  time  .  .  .  truly  I  was !  But 
think  what  will  become  of  us  ... 

EST.  [Vehemently,  pushing  her  away."]  Mother!  I 
forbid  you  to  speak  another  word  to  me !  I  will  not  hear 


ACT  iv]  PRINCE  IIAGEN 

it !  I  will  keep  my  bargain.  I  will  do  what  I  have  said 
I  will  do.  But  I  will  not  have  you  talk  to  me  about  it  ... 
Do  you  understand  me? 

MRS.  is.     My  dear ! 

EST.     Please  go  !    Both  of  you  !    I  wish  to  be  alone  ! 

MRS.  is.     [In  great  agitation.']    Oh,  dear  me !  dear  me ! 
Exit,  left. 

GER.     Good-bye ! 

Exit,  right;  ESTELLE  recovers  herself  by  an  effort; 
stands  by  table  in  thought.  Twilight  has  begun  to 
gather. 

HAGEN.  [Enters  by  veranda.]  Ah !  Estelle !  [Comes 
toward  her.]  My  beautiful !  [Makes  to  embrace  her.] 
Not  yet? 

EST.     [Faintly]     Prince  Hagen,  I  told  you  .  .  . 

HAGEN.     I  know,  I  know!     But  how  much  longer?     I 
love  you !     The  sight  of  you  is  fire  in  my  veins.     Have 
I  not  been  patient?     The  time  is  very  short  .  .  .  when 
will  you  let  me  .  .  . 
Advances. 

EST.     [Gasping.]    Give  me  ...  give  me  till  to-morrow  ! 

HAGEN.  [Gripping  his  hands]  To-morrow!  Very 
well !  [Turns  to  table]  Ah,  flowers !  Do  you  like  the 
new  poppies? 

EST.     They  are  exquisite! 

HAGEN.  [Sits  in  chair]  Well,  we've  had  a  busy  day 
to-day. 

EST.    Yes.     You  must  be  tired. 

HAGEN.     In  your  house?     No! 

EST.  Rest,  even  so.  [Goes  to  piano]  I  will  play  for 
you.  [Sits,  and  takes  Rheingold  score]  One  of  Gerald's 
scores. 

Plays  a  little,  then  sounds  the  Nibelung  theme. 
PRINCE  HAGEN  starts.  She  repeats  it. 

HAGEN.     No  .      .no! 


£20  PRINCE  HAGEX  [ACT  iv 

EST.     Why — what's  the  matter? 

KAGEN.     That  music!     What  is  it? 

EST.    It's  some  of  the  Nibelung  music.     Gerald  had  it 
here, 

HAGEN.     Don't  play  it!     {Hesitating.']     Music  jars  on 
me  now  .  .  .  I've  too  much  on  my  mind. 

EST.     {Rising.]    Oh  ...  very  well.    It  is  time  for  tea, 
anyway.     Have  you  talked  with  father  to-day? 

HAGEN.    Three  times.     He  is  in  the  thick  of  the  fight. 
He  plays  the  game  well. 

EST.     He  has  played  it  a  long  time. 

HAGEN.  Yes.  {'Phone  rings.]  Ah!  What  is  that? 
{Takes  receiver.]  Hello!  Yes  ...  oh,  Isman !  I  see! 
More  trouble  in  Fifth  Avenue,  hey?  Well,  are  the  regu 
lars  there?  Why  don't  they  fire?  Women  and  children 
in  front !  Do  they  expect  to  accomplish  anything  by 
that  ?  No,  don't  call  me  up  about  matters  like  that,  Isman. 
The  orders  have  been  given.  No  ...  not  an  inch !  Let 
the  orders  be  carried  out.  That  is  all.  Good-bye. 
Hangs  up  receiver. 

EST.     \_Has  been  listening  in  terror]    Prince  Hagen ! 

HAGEN.     Well? 

EST.     What  does  that  mean  ? 

HAGEN.     It  means  that  the  slums  are  pouring  into  Fifth 
Avenue. 

EST.     {A  pause.]    What  do  they  want? 

HAGEN.     Apparently  they  want  to  burn  my  palace. 

EST.    And  the  orders  .  .  .  what  are  the  orders? 

HAGEN.     The  orders  are  to  shoot,  and  to  shoot  straight. 

EST.    Is  it  for  me  that  you  are  doing  this? 

HAGEN.    How  do  you  mean? 

EST.    You  told  me  you  brought  all  the  world  and  laid 
it  at  my  feet    Is  this  part  of  the  process? 

HAGEN.    Yes,  this  is  part. 


ACT  iv]  PRINCE  HAGEN 

EST.  [Stares  at  him  intently;  whispers.]  How  do  you 
do  it? 

HAGEN.     What? 

EST.  What  is  the  secret  of  your  power?  They  are 
millions,  and  you  are  only  one  .  .  .  yet  you  have  them 
bound  !  Is  it  some  spell  that  you  have  woven?  [A  pause; 
HAGEN  stares  at  her.  She  goes  on,  with  growing  intensity 
and  excitement.]  They  are  afraid  of  your  gold !  Afraid 
of  your  gold !  All  the  world  is  afraid  of  it !  It  is  nothing 
— it  is  a  dream  ...  it  is  a  nightmare!  If  they  would 
defy  you  ...  if  they  would  open  their  eyes  ...  it  would 
go  as  all  nightmares  go !  But  you  have  made  them  believe 
in  it !  They  cower  and  cringe  before  it !  They  toil  and 
slave  for  it !  They  take  up  arms  and  murder  their  broth 
ers  for  it !  They  sell  their  minds  and  their  souls  for  it ! 
And  all  because  no  one  dares  to  defy  you !  No  one !  No 
one!  [In  a  sudden  transport  of  passion.]  I  defy  you! 
[PRINCE  HAGEN  starts;  she  gazes  at  him  wildly.]  I  will 
not  marry  you !  I  will  not  sell  myself  to  you !  Not  for 
any  price  that  you  can  offer  .  .  .  not  for  any  threat  that 
you  can  make !  Not  in  order  that  my  mother  may  plan 
wedding  breakfasts  and  triumph  over  Mrs.  Bagley- Willis ! 
Not  in  order  that  my  father  may  rule  in  Wall  Street  and 
command  the  slaughter  of  women  and  children !  Nor  yet 
for  the  fear  of  anything  that  you  can  do ! 

HAGEN.  [In  a  low  voice.]  Have  you  any  idea  what  I 
will  do? 

EST.  [Desperately.]  I  know  what  you  mean  .  .  .  you 
have  me  at  your  mercy !  You  have  your  guards — I  am 
in  a  trap !  And  you  mean  force  ...  I  have  felt  it  in  all 
your  actions  .  .  .  behind  all  your  words.  Very  well ! 
There  is  a  way  of  escape,  even  from  that ;  and  I  will  take 
it !  You  can  compel  me  to  kill  myself ;  but  you  can  never 
compel  me  to  marry  you !  Not  with  all  the  power  you  can 
summon  ...  not  with  all  the  wealth  of  the  world!  Do 


222  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  iv 

you  understand  me?  [They  stare  at  each  other.']  I  have 
heard  you  talk  with  my  brother,  and  I  know  what  are 
your  ideas.  You  came  to  our  civilization,  and  tried  it, 
and  found  it  a  lie.  Virtue  and  honor  .  .  .  justice  and 
mercy  ...  all  these  things  were  pretenses  .  .  .  snares  for 
the  unwary.  There  was  no  one  you  could  not  frighten 
with  your  gold !  That  is  your  creed,  and  so  far  it  has 
served  you  .  .  .  but  no  farther !  There  is  one  thing  in 
the  world  you  cannot  get  .  .  .  one  thing  that  is  beyond 
the  reach  of  all  your  cunning !  And  that  is  a  woman's 
soul.  [With  a  gesture  of  exultant  triumph.']  You  can 
not  buy  me ! 

HAGEN.     Estelle ! 

EST.     Go ! 

HAGEN.     [Stretching  out  his  arms  to  her.~]    I  love  you ! 

EST.  You  love  me!  The  slave  driver  .  .  .  with  his 
golden  whip ! 

HAGEN.     Even  so  ...  I  love  you. 

EST.  What  do  you  know  of  love?  What  does  the 
word  mean  to  you?  Before  love  must  come  justice  and 
honor,  with  it  come  mercy  and  self-sacrifice  ...  all 
things  that  you  deride  and  trample  on.  What  have  you  to 
do  with  love? 

HAGEN.  [With  intensity.']  I  love  you!  More  than 
anything  else  in  all  the  world  ...  I  love  you! 

EST.     [Stares  at  him.']    More  than  your  power? 

HAGEN.  Estelle!  Listen  to  me!  You  do  not  know 
what  my  life  has  been  !  But  I  can  say  this  for  myself  .  .  . 
I  have  sought  the  best  that  I  know.  I  have  sought  Reality. 
[A  pause.']  I  seek  your  love !  I  seek  those  things  which 
you  have,  and  which  I  have  not.  [Fiercely.']  Do  you 
think  that  I  have  not  felt  the  difference? 

EST.     [In  a  startled  whisperj]    No  ! 

HAGEN.  That  which  you  have,  and  which  I  have  not, 
has  become  all  the  world  to  me  !  I  love  you  ...  I  cannot 


ACT  iv]  PRINCE  HAG  I A  223 

live  without  you.  I  will  follow  you  wherever  you  com 
mand.  Only  teach  me  how  to  win  your  love. 

EST.  I  cannot  make  terms  with  you.  I  will  not  hear 
of  love  from  you  while  you  have  force  in  your  hands. 

HAGEN.  I  will  leave  your  home.  I  will  set  you  free. 
I  will  humble  myself  before  you.  What  else  can  I  do? 

EST.    You  can  lay  down  your  power. 

HAGEN.     Estelle !    Those  are  mere  words. 

EST.     No ! 

HAGEN.  Who  is  to  take  up  the  power?  Shall  I  hand 
it  back  to  those  who  had  it  before?  Are  Plimpton  and 
Rutherford  better  fitted  to  wield  it  than  I? 

EST.     [Vehemently.]  Give  it  to  the  people! 

HAGEN.  The  people !  Do  you  believe  that  in  that  mass 
of  ignorance  and  corruption  which  you  call  the  people 
there  is  the  power  to  rule  the  world? 

EST.  What  is  it  that  has  made  the  people  corrupt? 
What  is  it  that  has  kept  them  in  ignorance?  What  is  it 
but  your  gold?  It  lies  upon  them  like  a  mountain's  weight ! 
It  crushes  every  aspiration  for  freedom  .  .  .  every  effort 
after  light !  Teach  them  .  .  .  help  them  .  .  .  then  see  if 
they  cannot  govern  themselves ! 

HAGEN.     I  meant  to  do  it  ... 

EST.  Yes  ...  so  does  every  rich  man !  When  only 
he  has  the  time  to  think  of  it !  When  only  his  power  is 
secure !  I  have  heard  my  father  say  it  ...  a  score  of 
times.  But  there  are  always  new  rivals  to  trample  .  .  . 
new  foes  to  fight  .  .  .  new  wrongs  and  horrors  to  be  per 
petrated !  The  time  to  do  it  is  now  .  .  .  now! 

HAGEN.    Estelle  .  .  . 

CAL.     [Enters  hurriedly.]     Prince  Hagen! 

HAGEN.     What  is  it? 

CAL.  A  message  from  Isman.  There  is  bad  news  from 
Washington. 

HAGEN.     Well? 


PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  iv 

CAL.  A  bill  has  been  introduced  in  Congress  ...  it  is 
expected  to  pass  both  houses  to-night  .  .  .  your  property 
is  to  be  confiscated ! 

HAGEN.    What ! 

CAL.  The  sources  of 'natural  wealth  .  .  .  the  land  and 
the  mines  and  the  railroads  ...  all  are  to  become  public 
property.  It  is  to  take  effect  at  once ! 

EST.  [Pointing  at  him  in  exultation.]  Aha!  It  has 
come! 

They  stare  at  each  other. 

CAL.  I  tried  to  get  more  information  .  .  .  but  I  was 
cut  off  ... 

HAGEN.      Cut  Off! 

CAL.  I  think  the  wires  are  down  ...  I  can't  get  any 
response. 

HAGEN.  I  see!  [Stands  in  deep  thought;  laughs.] 
Well  .  .  .  [To  ESTELLE.]  At  least  Plimpton  and  Ruther 
ford  are  buried  with  me !  [To  CALKINS.]  Send  to  town 
at  once  and  have  the  wires  seen  to.  And  try  to  learn 
what  you  can. 

CAL.    Yes,  sir  ...  at  once! 
Exit. 

EST.     They  have  done  it  themselves,  you  see ! 

HAGEN.     Yes  ...  I  see. 

GER.  [Enters,  centre;  stands  looking  from  one  to  the 
other.]  Well,  Prince  Hagen  ...  it  looks  as  if  the  game 
was  up. 

HAGEN.     You've  heard  the  news? 

GER.  From  Washington?  Yes.  And  more  than  that. 
Your  guards  have  revolted. 

HAGEN.    What!    Here? 

GER.    Yes.    We're  prisoners  of  war,  it  seems. 

EST.     Gerald ! 

HAGEN.    How  do  you  know? 

GER.    They've  sent  a  delegation  to   tell   us.     They've 


ACT  iv  PRINCE  HAGEN 


cut   the    telephone    wires,    blocked   the    roads,    and    shut 
us  in. 

HAGEN.     What  do  they  want? 

GER.     They   don't    condescend   to   tell    us   that.       They 
simply  inform  us  that  the  woods  are  guarded,  and  that 
anyone  who  tries  to  leave  the  camp  will  be  shot. 
EST.     [In  fright.]     Prince  Hagen  ! 

HAGEN  stands  motionless. 
GER.     [Solemnly.']    Hagen,  the  game  is  up  ! 
HAGEN.     [In  deep  thought.']     Yes.     The  game  is  up. 
[A  pause.]    Gerald  ! 
GER.     Well? 

HAGEN.     [Points  to  I'iolin.]     Play! 
GER.     [Startled.]     No  ! 
HAGEN.     Play  ! 
GER.     You  will  go  ? 

HAGEN.  Yes.  I  will  go.  But  I  will  come  back!  Play! 
[GERALD  takes  the  violin  and  plays  the  Nibelung  theme.] 
Louder  ! 

GERALD  plays  the  Nibelung  music,  which  is  taken  iCp 
by  the  orchestra  and  mounts  to  a  climax,  in  the 
midst  of  which  HAGEN  pronounces  a  sort  of  incan 
tation. 

Mimi!     Minn! 

Open  the  gates  of  wonderland! 

Bring  back  the  mood  of  phantasy,  and  wake  us  from  our  evil  dream  ! 

Silence.  Then  answering  echoes  of  the  music  are 
heard,  faintly,  from  the  fireplace.  There  are  rap- 
pings  and  murmuring  s  underground,  rumbling  and 
patter  of  feet,  and  all  the  sounds  of  Nibelheim. 
As  the  music  swells  louder,  the  trap  doors  slide  open, 
and  MIMI  appears,  amid  steam  and  glare  of  light. 
ESTELLE  sees  him,  and  recoils  in  terror.  A  company 
of  Nibelungs  emerge  one  by  one.  They  peer  about 


226  PRINCE  HAGEN  [ACT  iv 

timidly,  recognise  HAGEN,  and  with  much  trepida 
tion  approach  him.  MIMI  clasps  his  hand,  and  they 
surround  him  with  joyful  cries.  He  moves  toward 
the  fireplace,  and  the  steam  envelops  him. 

EST.     [Starts  toward  him,  stretching  out  her  arms  to 
him.']     Prince  Hagen ! 

HAGEN.     Farewell ! 

He  gradually  retires,  and  disappears  with  the  Nibe- 
lungs.  The  orchestra  sounds  the  motive  of  Siegfried 
Triumphant. 

CURTAIN 


WHICH  BORROWED 


N  DEPT. 


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